


The Hobbit: A Suicidal Journey

by vividpast



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bilbo Bromances Everyone, Bilbo-centric, Bromance, Crack Treated Seriously, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Bilbo, Idealization of Suicide, M/M, Mostly humor, Overprotective Dwarves, Polish Translation Available, Slow Burn Thilbo, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-09 14:19:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 104,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3252914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vividpast/pseuds/vividpast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo has been planning to kill himself for a while. However, he wants to go out with a big bang and not just a common death. Cue Gandalf and his invitation to a dangerous adventure that will surely give him an opportunity to die in a lot of interesting ways. Now, if only those bothersome dwarves stop saving him at every attempt . . . Full prompt inside. Half serious, half not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (Suicidal) Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING/S:** Suicidal thoughts, Romanticized suicide, Implied depression, Somewhat crack-ish so should only be taken half-seriously, not as depressing as it sounds
> 
>  **A/N:** My first dip outside the Merlin fandom and it's this crazy Hobbit story! It's 2 AM here so I'm not thinking straight and probably delete this story tomorrow. BUT FOR NOW, MY BRAIN THINKS IT'S A GOOD IDEA TO UPLOAD THIS SO TAH-DAH.
> 
> Full Prompt at Hobbit Kink Meme:
> 
>  _Bilbo has been planning to kill himself for a while; the Took in him wants to go out with a big bang that is exciting and thrilling. Cue Gandalf and his invitation to a DANGEROUS adventure that is highly likely to kill him in a lot of interesting ways._  
>  _Throughout the journey, he makes several suicidal decisions-though he takes care not to take any of the Company with him to his death. Maybe he asks the trolls to eat him first because he is supposedly the tastiest morsel among them or something._  
>  _The Dwarrows think Bilbo as either heroic or incredibly stupid. Nonetheless, they constantly worry about him because of his tendency to always choose the dangerous paths. Maybe they become overprotective over time and Bilbo is touched but at the same time irritated because they're always foiling his suicides._  
>  I prefer it to be crack but the seriousness of the story depends on the filler.  
>  _BONUS +100 for Bilbo/AnyDwarf pairing_
> 
> Someone already filled it and y'all who likes sassy jaded Bilbo should read [here](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=24653685)!
> 
>  **EDIT:** Polish translation has been started by [Larrehmylovex](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/6833392/) in [here](http://aph-pirate-spain.tumblr.com/post/121116152500/the-hobbit-a-suicidal-journey-tlumaczenie)!!!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: The Hobbit book/movie is not mine! (But I do hope I own a hobbit one day ;))

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It wasn't that Bilbo was very keen on dying.

There just wasn't  _anything_  left to do but perish.

Bilbo leaned back on the bench, chewing the edge of his pipe. The Old Toby tasted bittersweet on his tongue—a tang he had grown to like. The morning sun was warm on his face and the earth soft on his hobbit feet. The green rolling hills of the Shire was spread out before him, astounding in its picturesque beauty.

When his parents died several years before, he was left all on his own in the big smial that was Bag End. The grief was too great that, at first, he was glad that he was all alone to wallow in his misery. But holing himself in Bag End for months had cost him most of his friends and relatives. Sure, they'd come around for tea once in a while but there was always some ulterior motive to their visits. They certainly didn't come for Bilbo's somewhat unpleasant company; his months of isolation had done no good to his social awkwardness.

Being a gentlehobbit also meant he didn't interact with hobbits that much. He didn't work; rent from neighboring hobbits was always send through his mail. So he only came out of his smial when his pantry's running low or if he was in the mood to garden.

Bilbo lifted his gaze to the cerulean sky full of fluffy white clouds. He let out a resigned sigh. The weather was much too nice to be thinking such maudlin thoughts.

But Bilbo's searching for a definite explanation as to why he had been feeling so  _empty_ and  _numb_  lately. Well, it actually started a few years after his parents died so he supposed that's not exactly 'lately'. Some days, the emptiness  _ached_  so much that it could be mistaken for a physical wound.

Nothing in the Shire excited him anymore—not the parties, the festivals, the running little fauntlings asking for stories.  _Nothing_  can stir his heart. Books about faraway lands and adventures could almost make his heart beat in excitement. But after he finished reading them, he would feel more disconnected to the world than before.

Bilbo inhaled on his pipe and puffed out, watching as the smoke curled into the air.

He had read the studies of Men about the general reasons for suicides. They concluded that one of the causes would be detachment from society. If a person had nothing to attach him to this world—family, friends, a purpose—then he would choose to go to another through death.

Bilbo supposed that was definitive enough.

He had thought about it, of course; ending his life would probably give him some kind of relief to the emptiness of his days.

But oh, how to go about it?

Bilbo would deliberate about it for hours in a day.

He would trace through the veins on the inside of his wrists, wondering how slowly he would die should a sharp kitchen knife pierce him. It would be messy and perhaps painful but Bilbo had read that a person experienced great euphoria when they lose too much blood. However, he worried for the poor sap who would have had the displeasure of cleaning his remains (there had been no bloody death in the Shire for decades!). And there was no need to ruin a good kitchen knife.

He would run his hands through the clothesline, wondering how the swirly grooves would feel upon his neck as it strangled him. Would hanging himself feel similar to drowning? Or is drowning a better choice? Bilbo would feel weightless as he sank onto the bottom of the river. The water would feel cool against his skin and he would probably see the wonderful shafts of sunlight before all faded to black.

Starving himself, jumping from a high tree, burying himself in the garden . . .

The thoughts, whenever they crossed his mind, made his heart beat faster. His hands started to sweat and his whole body felt like it had been inflamed and, at the same time, doused with very cold water. It wasn't until his cheeks started hurting from smiling that he realized what he was feeling wasn't fear but . . . Bilbo didn't know what it was either but it was nothing remotely resembling the  _emptiness_  he was feeling nowadays.

But in the end, he would come to the same conclusion; those deaths were too  _boring_!

He closed his eyes, pursing his lips to blow out a smoke ring. He was quite an expert in making one, if he might say so himself.

The Took in him rebelled against such common ways to go! Since Bilbo had free reign to choose on how to die, he preferred to go in a creative and unique way. Being eaten by an exotic creature? Or maybe inhaling a poisonous gas? If he did go while being useful or maybe protecting somebody, then that would be a big bonus! Bilbo had always wanted to be the knight's best friend who ultimately sacrificed himself just to be useful.

Alas, Bilbo didn't think he would ever be of use to anybody no matter how hard he tried. So he would settle for an ingenious death.

Unfortunately, there were no such dangers in the Shire. And currently, Bilbo had not the motivation to venture outside of it, lethargic as he was on most days.

Perhaps he should content himself with a common death, then? As much as he wanted a thrilling end, he didn't want to drag this dreary existence into another day . . .

A great dab of air smacked him right on the nose and he startled, broken out of his thoughts.

His eyes flew open out of his own accord. He was met by the sight an old man as tall as a tree. His greying beard reached past his chest while his equally greying hair went until his waist. _Everything_  about the man was gray, actually, from his drab robes and large pointed hat. He held a gnarly staff with both hands, leaning forward to stare at the hobbit with eyes twinkling with amusement.

Bilbo blinked, uncertain on what to do. It was a bit disorienting whenever he was abruptly pulled off his daydream. He fiddled around with his hands before saying, "Good morning!" with as much enthusiasm he could pull off—which, in these days, wasn't much.

The amusement in those eyes seemed to increase, if that was possible. "What you mean?" the man started in a croaky voice that seemed only wise old creatures were capable of. "Do you mean to wish me good morning or do you mean that it is a good morning, whether I want it or not?" The man paused only for a breath before continuing. "Or perhaps you mean to say that you feel good this particular morning or are you simply stating this is a morning to be good on?"

Bilbo probably looked as stupid as he felt. Nevertheless, he took time to digest the riddle that was the old Man's words. He took two quick puffs of his pipe before replying, "I supposed I hope your morning to be good and that it is a good morning because of the clear weather." He gestured at the sky with his pipe.

The man's brows rose in what was perhaps surprise. "Hmm. I see."

Bilbo gave a small smile and a nod. After a few moments, he realized the man wasn't leaving. He grappled with the poor excuse of social skills he had. "Um. C-Can I help you?"

"That remains to be seen," the man replied, leveling him with a measuring gaze.

Bilbo refused to fidget under the old man's scrutiny. He was a Baggins of Bag End. He might be a recluse but he hadn't lost his respectability yet.

"I'm looking for someone to share in an adventure." The man said, eyes twinkling with no small amount of mischief.

Bilbo's brows rose to his hairline, mouth dropping open. "Wh—An adventure?" he breathed out. Like the quests he had read in books? "Those nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things?" He didn't care for anything uncomfortable but adventures were  _nasty_ ,  _dangerous_ , and almost always  _life-threatening_. He exhaled a deep breath to calm himself. Could it be? Could he really be this lucky? Just when he was thinking of giving up . . .

A disapproving frown appeared on the man's face at the hobbit's words. "As I recall, Belladonna Took's son would jump at the chance to go on an adventure."

"Do I know you?" Bilbo questioned, narrowing his eyes. The man did seem familiar.

"Well, you know my name, although you do not remember that I belong to it. I'm Gandalf! And Gandalf means me." The man said with unnecessary flourish.

Well, old creatures tended to be dramatic.

Speaking of dramatics, Bilbo did know the old man. "Gandalf? Not Gandalf, the Wandering Wizard, who made such excellent fireworks! Old Took used to have them during Midsummer's Eve." The old man, Gandalf, preened at the compliment.

Bilbo remembered those nights. He wished he could relive the excitement he had at seeing those colorful explosions on the night sky. And perhaps, this was it. Gandalf, who had evoked such long lost feeling in him years before, must be here to do so again.

"An adventure, you say?" he asked with a tilted head. He felt a flutter in his chest just at the  _thought_  of the danger this adventure implied.

"Yes, yes," Gandalf replied with a smile, his frown disappearing at Bilbo's piqued interest. "One that may decide the fate of the whole of Middle Earth."

Oh.  _Oh_. This wasn't just some quick run-on-the-mill quest then. Bilbo eagerly got to his feet, feeling hot all over. He opened the gate of his fence, gesturing the wizard in with his pipe. "Come on in, then. Tell me more over elevenses."

Gandalf appeared surprised. "I had expected to be met with more hesitation than this.”

Bilbo chuckled, placing his pipe back in his mouth. Perhaps once, he would have driven the old wizard out just at the mere mention of 'adventure'. But that was a time when he had yet to realize his empty existence, and when had yet to lose all kinds of strong emotions.

"Nonsense," the hobbit replied instead. Something told Bilbo that Gandalf wouldn't let him come should the wizard know of the hobbit's true intentions. "Tooks would at least hear more about this adventure before even thinking to refuse."

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A journey through the dangerous territories of goblins and the forests of Mirkwood.

Thirteen careless dwarves with a knack for waving weapons at every single opportunity.

A dragon with fearsomely-sharp claws and rock-melting fire.

Bilbo brought the teacup to his lips with trembling hands, hiding his wide excited smile at the thought of  _so many interesting ways to die_. Of course, he felt fear at the pain he might endure on this journey. The thought of the relief those exciting deaths would incur, however, was enough to overcome any other feeling.

He took a sip of the lukewarm tea before placing it down on the table.

Gandalf frowned at him in concern, sitting on the only Big Folk chair in the house. Bilbo suspected the furniture only existed in Bag End because of the wizard. Gandalf was currently puffing away on his own pipe, filling the smial with the scent of Old Toby. His plate of blueberry pie lain empty on the table, not even crumbs were left.

"My dear Bilbo, are you alright?" He asked, leaning forward.

"Yes, yes, quite," the hobbit answered with a dismissive wave.

It was then that Gandalf casted a suspicious glance at Bilbo, which went unnoticed by the hobbit. The wizard continued on smoking, eyes taking in the hobbit's trembling and sweating hands, dilated eyes, and the big grin that the other was trying to curb by biting his lip. It seemed Bilbo was truly excited at the prospect of an adventure. Gandalf thought the hobbit had needed more persuasion.

The hobbit tilted his head. "You said the dwarves will arrive  _tonight_?"

"Yes. All thirteen of them," Gandalf said in his usual amused tone.

"Right." Bilbo was already thinking on how he could cook for thirteen dwarves in just a few hours. Going to certain death surprisingly gave him the energy to care about being a poor host. He was no longer lethargic.

"You agree then?" Bilbo startled as Gandalf stood up, head almost hitting the chandelier (again). The hobbit stood up with him.

"Why, yes. Of course." Bilbo beamed. This adventure was a golden opportunity for a creative death! He would not miss it.

Gandalf gave a thoughtful hum, staring at Bilbo fondly. "You have not changed one bit, Bilbo Baggins. You are still the same fauntling that liked to steal my fireworks just for the sake of getting into trouble." The wizard chuckled, ruffling the hobbit's curls.

"Yes, but I'm not a fauntling anymore." Bilbo huffed, swatting Gandalf's hands away and giving him a half-hearted glare.

What Gandalf didn't know was Bilbo had changed, so much so that he no longer even felt like a hobbit sometimes. He was not the same excitable young fauntling he once was—rather the opposite actually. But what Gandalf didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Note that all I know about Tolkien's universe is what I saw in the hobbit movies. Sorry for any inaccuracy or misinformation! Well, I'll delete this tomorrow anyway.
> 
>  **Additional Warning:** Suicide should never be romanticized. It isn't in anyway good or romantic. But people who have suicidal tendencies tend to romanticized it to justify their cravings for death.
> 
> Constructive criticisms are very much welcome! Help me improve my writing, guys!
> 
> Have a wonderful and cute-filled day!
> 
> ~ Vividpast


	2. (Suicidal) Preparation I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** I woke up the next morning STILL THINKING THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA. But yeah, this is most probably the last chapter I'll upload. Most of my muse escapes me quickly.
> 
> Meanwhile, guys, I implore you to review in the first fill of this prompt in Hobbit Kink Meme! It's a really wonderful characterization of Bilbo and maybe if many people commented on it, the anon will continue. PLEASE. (Link is on Chapter 1).
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER:** Tolkien is a freaking GENIUS! I do not claim to be a genius.

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When Gandalf left to inform the others, Bilbo immediately started on the preparations. He had thirteen dwarven mouths to feed after all.

He cooked everything in his first pantry, thinking of bringing the remaining food in the second one for the journey tomorrow. He was never going back to Bag End anyway. . . or the Shire, for that matter. The notion sent a pang of homesickness and anticipation in his chest. He would miss Bag End, no doubt about that. He had many fond memories in this smial when his parents were still alive. At the same time, however, Bag End had been a constant reminder of the uselessness of his life. Its spacious corners and quiet nights reminded him how alone he truly was, how no one would miss him should he finally decide that day was to be the day he stopped existing.

But now, he had an adventure! The Valar had been kind enough to grant him an opportunity to go out with a bang and not a whimper.

Energized by this thought, he quickly prepared dinner. He grilled the fishes, cut out the vegetables plucked from his own garden, and roasted the beef. He pried open the clams, cut cow meat into square pieces to put into stew, and mashed the potatoes. He cooked the lambs, chicken, and sausages. He put loaves of bread on the table, bringing out every type of jam and cheese he had. He baked some more blueberry pies and added five apple pies to be certain. He placed the sweets and biscuits into small platelets for easy access. He checked the barrels of ale and, seeing the four barrels were yet untouched, decided that it would be enough.

When he was done, his arms were aching from all the chopping and stirring, and his feet were sore because of his hurry. He stretched, bones cracking, and happened to glance at his clock. He missed luncheon and afternoon tea! Goodness, so that was why his stomach was cramping.

He stood in the middle of the dining room, satisfied with his work. Every inch of his dining table was filled with various kinds of food, from meat to sweets. Running out of space, Bilbo had placed some foodstuff atop counters and (closed) windowsills (There was no need to tempt hungry thieves). Everything was piled high, seeing as all the food amounted to twelve hobbit meals. He hoped it would be enough for thirteen dwarves.

Bilbo grinned, feeling a bubble of delight in his chest. It wasn't just his impending doom that made the whole thing exciting. Bilbo was rather fond of new experiences and meeting new people, unlike most hobbits. The notion drove his lethargy away, and he felt more vivacious than before.

"Oh dear." Bilbo came to a sudden realization. "I haven't packed my things yet." It would be completely suspicious should Bilbo come bringing nothing but the clothes on his back. 'I'm planning to die anyway' would most probably not go well with his future companions.

Just as he was heading upstairs to his room, the doorbell rang.  _That must be the dwarves!_

When he opened the round green door, he was met by the sight of a stocky creature with a balding top dressed in furred armor. Bilbo stared rather rudely. He had never seen a dwarf up close before. They were a lot taller and hairier than he expected.

"Dwalin, at your service," the dwarf greeted with a hard look and a small bow.

The greeting tore Bilbo from his trance. Remembering a little of what he'd read about dwarves, he reciprocated the words and the bow. "B-Bilbo Baggins, at yours."

The dwarf, Dwalin, barged into his house without further ado and proceeded to remove his outerwear. Bilbo let him through, green eyes still observing the unfamiliar creature.

"So which way, laddie? Is it down here?" The dwarf peered into the long hall of bedrooms.

"Um, what's down where?"

Dwalin shot the hobbit a look that said he thought Bilbo to be scrambled in the head. "Supper." The dwarf roughly threw his coat to the hobbit. Bilbo fumbled to catch it, staggering at the weight of the cloth. "He said there'd be food and lots of it."

"Gandalf did?" Well, hobbits are known to be hospitable hosts. It was no surprise that the wizard promised food. Bilbo freed a hand from the tangles of the coat. He gestured at the direction of the dining room. "I've prepared some food there."

Dwalin grunted in what must've been a sign of thanks before entering the dining area. Bilbo stood still for several seconds processing the whirlwind of events. There was a dwarf in his smial, probably eating his food—a dwarf who would be his companion in a journey that would hopefully give him a thrilling death. Given the look the dwarf was shooting him, Bilbo knew befriending him was a useless endeavor . . . as it always was when Bilbo attempted anything social. If Bilbo hadn't been planning to go to his death, he would have been more intimidated the dwarf's gruff appearance.

Bilbo pulled out a coat rack from a nearby cabinet, placed it by the door, and properly hung Dwalin's coat. When he came to the dining room, the dwarf was already helping himself to some of the seasoned fish.

"Plenty of food here," Dwalin said in a brusque manner. "Did this all by your lonesome?" He raised a judgmental brow at Bilbo's clothes.

The hobbit looked down and realized he was wearing his cooking wear—a loose long-sleeved tunic, tattered trousers, and a long green apron over it all. Goodness, it wasn't very proper to greet guests like this. He flushed in embarrassment.

"I-I'll go get changed," he murmured, already making his way up to his room.

He changed into his second-best waistcoat, fitting buttoned-up shirt, and knee-long cotton shorts. He wondered if he should pack since he was already upstairs. Bilbo shook his head. He would be a poor host if he left his guest alone.

When he finally went down, another dwarf had apparently arrived. Bilbo was just in time to see and hear the dwarves loudly knocking their foreheads together. Bilbo's eyes widened in surprise. Their heads appeared to be as hard as rocks because the action didn't even seem to faze them.

Dying of a cracked skull from a dwarven greeting . . . didn't have a bad ring to it.

The new dwarf, beard and hair as white as snow, noticed him first.

"You must be Master Baggins," he greeted with a diplomatic smile. "Balin, at you service!" He introduced with a small bow.

"Bilbo Baggins, at yours, Mister Balin."

"Balin will do just fine, laddie." The dwarf chuckled. He looked upon the dining table, delight on his face. "Now, there seems to be a feast here!"

"Do you think it'll be enough?" Bilbo asked, running a hand through his curls to tame it. "For the thirteen of you?"

"That remains to be seen, Master Baggins!" Balin let out a laugh, patting his stomach. "Us dwarves have a hearty appetite, y'know."

"Just Bilbo, please," Bilbo attempted a smile. "Hobbits are known for their appetite as well. Do you want me to cook some more?"

"No need, laddie," Balin assured with a pat on the hobbit's shoulder. The action nearly sent Bilbo sprawling on the ground. Dwarves were  _strong_. "I'm sure we can do something ourselves."

"I see." Bilbo frowned in confusion then. "Where're the rest of you? Gandalf told me you all would be here tonight . . ."

"Aye. They're on their way," Dwalin replied before smashing a cookie into his mouth.

"Did you not travel together?" Bilbo inquired, curious.

"Well, we all had different businesses to attend to." Balin didn't appear very eager to talk about it so Bilbo didn't pry.

Since the others seemed to be arriving later . . . "Wou—Would you mind terribly if I left you by yourselves for a while?" It seemed he couldn't avoid being a poor host after all. "I haven't started packing yet and there are still some arrangements I need to make."

"Of course, laddie!" Balin conceded cheerfully, not offended at all. "My brother and I can entertain ourselves."

 _Brothers?_  Bilbo glanced between Balin and Dwalin. There was little resemblance between them. Perhaps Bilbo just wasn't used to dwarven appearance to pick out the differences.

Bilbo gave Balin a grateful smile before heading to the study. Several books filled the shelves to the brim, all worn and dog-eared. Documents and all sorts of parchment were scattered on the only desk in the room. Some of them were Bilbo's unfinished writings while others were just research documents he borrowed from the local library. He should have someone return them in his absence.

He left the door open as he entered so his guests could easily call him if they so wished. He pulled open the drawer of his desk and drew out an envelope yellowed slightly with age. He sat down on the desk chair, fishing out a missive from inside the packet.

Bilbo had written his will years ago, a preparation for the death he was anticipating. He reread it again, wondering if he needed to make changes.

Bag End and all paraphernalia within would go to Drogo, the cousin that he had liked the most. They hardly talked, as Bilbo hardly socialized with anyone, but whenever they did, Drogo was pleasant and sincere. Compare to other fake simpering hobbits or outright hostile ones, Bilbo's interactions with Drogo was a refreshing change. Bilbo had heard the lad was courting a Brandybuck. Owning a large smial like Bag End was a perfect way to impress such an aristocratic clan.

He donated most of his books to the local library. The ones written by him and his mother, however, he gave to his grandfather, Gerontius Took. Bilbo thought the old hobbit would like the adventure books written by family, even though most of Bilbo's works were children's stories.

He gave Hamfast Gamgee, a faithful gardener who was almost a friend, half of the garden in Bag End. Its harvests would all be going to the Gamgee family.

Lastly, he specified, in great and definite detail, that  _nothing_  should go to any member of the Sackville-Baggins. Should Drogo die an untimely death without leaving heirs, Bilbo asked that Bag End be handed over to the Took side of his family to deal with. The hobbit couldn't help but feel immensely and viciously satisfied as he read those last lines. The Sackville-Baggins were greedy hostile hobbits, and Bilbo loathed to leave his home to such beings.

He was rewriting copies of the will when the bell rang again.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Unbeta'd so all mistakes are because I'm a lazy bum.
> 
> Actually, there's an additional 2 000 words that I've already written but meh. Seems good to end it this way.
> 
> I tried to stay true to Bilbo's character in the movies-fussy and sensible but with a bit of a suicidal note to everything.
> 
> As usual, constructive criticisms are very much welcome. Help me improve my writings guys!
> 
> Have an awesome day!
> 
> ~Vividpast


	3. (Suicidal) Preparation II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Oh my god, I can't believe I'm still writing this stupid story. Apparently, I'm continuing this *sighs*. Don't get used to the frequent updates though! I'm not known for finishing my stories nor updating them often.
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER:** The Hobbit is not mine, alright. I'm not a genius.

 

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When he opened the door, two young dwarves met his sight. One had flaxen hair and a braided mustache while the other had dark locks and barely a stubble on his jaw.

"Fili," the blond started, mischief evident in his smile.

"And Kili." The dark-haired dwarf's expression was much that of the other.

They reminded Bilbo of the tweens that dared steal his ale in the backyard a few years ago.

"At your service!" They said, bowing in unison. My, they must've practiced that.

"You must be Master Boggins!" Kili exclaimed.

Bilbo frowned, taking in their easy naïve demeanor and youthful appearance. Without thinking, the words, "I didn't know we're bringing younglings into the quest." spilled from his mouth.

Both let out indignant squawks, and even with that, they surprisingly synchronized.

"Did you hear that, Fee?" Kili turned to the other dwarf. "He thinks us dwarflings!"

"Master Boggins! I'll have you know that Kee and I are of proper age!" Fili defended, sounding as enraged as a rebellious teenager.

"Oh, I apologize." Bilbo hurriedly tried to correct his mistake. The quest hadn't even started and he was already offending the dwarves. "I just meant you seemed too young to –I meant only—that is—" The hobbit sighed. "Never mind."

Both dwarves barged into the smial — Fili, with a confident swagger, and Kili in an excited run. In the next second, Bilbo found his arms full of weapons. His eyes widened with unhidden curiosity; there was an ornate dagger, a thin blade, two sheathed swords from Fili, arrows and a bow from Kili.

"Careful with these." Fili warned playfully, gesturing at his longswords. "I just had them sharpened."

 _Sharpened_. Bilbo wondered how sharp they were now. Are they sharper than his kitchen knife? How easily could they pierce through muscle and bone? The hobbit stared at it contemplatively, imagining . . .

A movement in the corner caught his eye. He saw Kili removing dirt from his shoes using—"That's my mother's glory box!" The dwarf was desecrating one of the few precious things he owned!

In a burst of anger, Bilbo marched to the dwarf and demanded, "You will clean that up this instant!"

Kili stared at him with wide shocked eyes. "B-But—"

"Mister Kili," Bilbo rudely cut off. "If you do not want to be treated as a tween then I suggest you do not act like one."

The young dwarf looked about to argue, mouth opening. Bilbo gave him a sharp look, daring him to try. Kili quelled at the look, properly chastised.

"There's a rag by the sink in the kitchen." Bilbo gestured at the direction of said room with his head.

Fili let out a guffaw, having watched the whole interaction. "It seems Master Boggins is not a hobbit to be messed with!" The dwarf slap Bilbo's back in what seems to be an expression of camaraderie. Bilbo stumbled, nearly dropping the armaments in his arms. By Yavanna, he was going to have some colorful bruises by tomorrow.

"And it's Baggins, not Boggins," Bilbo added.

Shrugging, Fili placed his arm around Kili's shoulders, steering both of them to the kitchen. Bilbo heard some undecipherable shouts as they passed by the dining room; Dwalin's and Balin's voices were amongst the noise.

"Look at all this food!" Kili's muffled voice exclaimed with delight.

Bilbo searched for a place to put the weapons. It was the first time he had guests that owned such perilous articles. In the end, he decided to place them on top of a trunk that housed his old clothes. He put the blades down gingerly, fingers lingering on the sheathed edges. He removed the quiver from around his neck where Kili had placed it, feathers tickling his skin as he did so.

Staring at the weapons, curiosity threatened to overwhelm him. He had only caught glimpses of swords and arrows from the Rangers passing by the Shire. The hobbit glanced around and listened for any sound. All the dwarves were in the dining area, loudly narrating some anecdote or another.

First, Bilbo pulled out an arrow from Kili's quiver. The wooden shaft with a feathered base ended with a rock sharpened into a pointiness. He tested the sharp end by pressing a finger on it. Sadly, it was as sharp as the quills Bilbo used in writing; it left only a slight indention on his skin. It would certainly take a great amount of force for the arrow to pierce anything other than paper.

Bilbo swiftly replaced the arrow in its container. He picked up Fili's two swords next. It was a curious leather sheathe, casing two swords at each end. Bilbo grabbed the hilt of one and, with surprisingly little effort, pulled the sword halfway out. The blade gleamed menacingly in the light of the lamps. The steel was polished to an extent that Bilbo could see his own awed expression on the surface.

It was sharp, definitely sharp enough to cut flesh like it was paper. A sword to the heart? Or a blade to the throat? It was positively unique by Shire standards. Bilbo hummed contemplatively. He supposed it's not so much as the sword but by who was wielding it. If orcs or goblins were brandishing such weapons at him . . . Bilbo chuckled. The hobbit wouldn't last a second when faced with such foes. It would be a swift satisfying death indeed.

"Master Boggins?" a wary voice called out.

Bilbo snapped the sword back into its sheath, heartbeat racing at being caught. He turned to see Kili shooting him a suspicious look, a dishcloth in his hand.

"I'm sorry. I was just admiring the—the workmanship on this sword," he half-lied. Well, he truly was fascinated by it. "Splendid, really," Bilbo couldn't help but add with a small delighted smile.

"My brother will be pleased to hear that!" Kili seemed convinced, grinning at the hobbit. "He takes good care of his weapons. He will feel proud at your praise." He slung an arm around Bilbo's shoulder. "Although, you shouldn't touch a dwarf's weapon without permission, Master Boggins," Kili added with a subtle warning note.

"Yes, it was terribly rude of me." Blibo said apologetically, wringing his hands.  _Seeing it was worth the trouble_ , he thought. He absently noted that Kili seemed to be steering him in a certain direction. "I'm—Wait, brother? Mister Fili is your brother?" Bilbo blinked as Kili's previous statement sank in. Again, Bilbo couldn't see any resemblance.

The dwarf let out a loud laugh. "Aye. Don't worry. People are often taken aback when they find out that this good-looking majestic being—" Kili gestured a hand down his whole body, the rag in his fingers fluttering like a maiden's handkerchief. "—is related to such—"

"Finish that sentence, Kee, and I shall have to disfigure that 'good-looking' face of yours," Fili's voice challenged.

Bilbo realized that Kili had brought him to the dining area where Dwalin, Balin and Fili had started their feast. Fili had stood up at the hobbit and dwarf's entrance, eyes incensed. If it wasn't for the smirk on his lips, Bilbo would have thought Fili to be angry.

Kili returned the smirk. Unlike Fili, the expression just made the dark-haired dwarf look boyish and full of mischief. "You cannot beat me even if you try."

"Oh?" Fili raised a cocky brow. "And who was it again that lost his sword less than five minutes into our spar?"

"You know that the sword is not my weapon!" Kili almost whined. "And besides, you elbowed me!"

Bilbo watched the back-and-forth banter between the two brothers. Something constricted in his chest at the sight. Their easy interaction was something he wished he had with another — once upon a time, that was. He let out a quiet resigned sigh. He had long given up trying to form a relationship with anyone; the first few attempts were disastrous enough. Besides, he was going to perish soon (hopefully,  _very_  soon). There was no need to wish for such an impossible thing.

Still, Bilbo allowed himself to envy them for a moment, and not a moment more.

"Have you eaten, Master Baggins?" Balin's kind voice broke through his thoughts.

"Hmm?" Bilbo turned to see the elder dwarf's bright smile. "As I've told you, just Bilbo is fine." After all, Bilbo would soon no longer be a master of anything, least of all Bag End.

"Bilbo then," the dwarf amended. "You said you didn't have time to pack," Balin said with shrewd eyes. "Perhaps you did not have the time to eat as well." The dwarf gestured to the seat beside him. On Balin's other side, Bilbo could see Dwalin stuffing himself with slice after slice of apple pie.

"Oh yes," Bilbo gratefully sat down. He had forgotten his hunger. But now that his guests were quite settled and he was faced with food, the pang in his stomach came back with vengeance. "I am terribly famished."

Without further prompting, Bilbo filled his plate with mashed potatoes, roasted lamb, salad, and all kinds of foodstuff. It wasn't long before a mountain of food was in front of him.

"It looks like Master Boggins has an appetite of a dwarf!" He heard Fili exclaim.

"Or perhaps you lot have an appetite of a hobbit," Bilbo commented, lifting a fork of salad into his mouth. He swallowed before correcting once more, "And it's  _Baggins_ , not Boggins."

Balin let out an amused chuckle at that. "Kili and Fili have quite the mischievous streak."

"I've noticed," Bilbo couldn't help but deadpanned.

"Don't let it get to you, laddie." Balin, thankfully, only placed a hand on his shoulder and didn't slap his back again. The dwarf shuffled the food on his plate before clearing his throat, preparing to speak. "So, Bilbo, if I might ask—"

Bilbo would never know the elder dwarf's question because at that moment, the bell rang for the third time that night.

"That'd be the door," Dwalin informed curtly and quite unnecessarily if Bilbo was asked. Everything Dwalin did appeared to be done with a certain amount of grumpiness.

The hobbit's was crestfallen at the thought of parting with the food in front of him. Alas, he couldn't allow any of his guests to answer the door, could he?

He reluctantly stood up and went to the front door. The bell was ringing insistently, not even stopping for a moment. Clearly, the dwarf on the other side was the impatient sort.

"Coming!" Bilbo shouted, hoping to end the incessant buzzing. It was starting to grate his ears.

He undid the lock and turned the knob. The door flew wide open—

To welcome an avalanche of dwarves into the doorstep.

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He couldn't breathe.

Something heavy was literally weighing on his chest, crushing his ribs against his lungs.

Oh, Eru. This was it. He was dying.

He let out a gasp, black spots appearing in his vision. How was he dying? He was . . . He was suffocating. How . . . how . . .

 _Boring_.

He had joined an adventure to die in an interesting way and  _this_  was what he got? Confound that wizard! Bilbo was promised goblins, steep cliffs, dark forests, and a dragon! And now, he was just dying of asphyxiation? But Bilbo supposed the wizard couldn't be blamed if the hobbit couldn't even make it out of his front door.

Oh, it was painful. He felt like his insides were being squeezed out of his skin. His lungs weren't expanding and he couldn't stop himself from breathing in.

For the first time in a long while, however, Bilbo felt like he was finally grounded into his body. He felt  _real_ and  _alive._ The constant emptiness in his chest was chased away by the enormous agony he was feeling.

Then, the load on top of him shifted and suddenly, the hobbit could breathe again.

Instinct forced him to gulp in the huge amounts of air he needed. He choked, coughing so hard he felt like his lungs were going to burst out. Gentle hands rubbed his back while another pair lifted him to his feet. Something popped in his ears and all the sounds came rushing to his head.

"—killed our burglar!" One of the dwarves was exclaiming.

"—your fault, Bombur, you clumsy oaf!" reprimanded another.

"Are ye a'right, lad?" A hatted dwarf bended down to Bilbo's eye level.

Bilbo blinked rapidly at having someone suddenly invade his personal space. The noise was deafening, all dwarves shouting at the same time and their covered feet stomping loudly on the ground.

"Here." The hatted dwarf raised his index finger. "Follow my finger with yer eyes." Utterly bewildered by the sudden chaos in his house, Bilbo could do nothing but comply. "That's it, lad."

"Move, you silly miner," Suddenly, the hatted dwarf was replaced grey-haired one with a beard braided in a spiral form. "I believe I am the healer in this Company."

Healer? "No, I'm—I'm quite fine." Bilbo stepped away from the reaching hands of said dwarf.

"What's that, lad?" the grey-haired dwarf asked, placing a horn in his ear. "You want white wine?"

"Come on, you lot!" Dwalin yelled, standing at the entrance of the dining room. Everyone turned to look at the direction of the shout. "There's plenty of food here!"

Like hobbits, the dwarves hurried to the dining table at the mention of food, good-naturedly pushing each other all the while; they've completely forgotten about the hobbit they almost crushed to death ( _almost_  was a very disappointing word). Bilbo watched them with wide bemused eyes. Each dwarf was as unique as the other, from the color of their hair to shape of their noses and the braids of their beards. The hobbit had never seen such an assortment of beings.

"Quite a merry gathering, aren't they?"

"Gandalf!" Bilbo uttered in surprise. He had just noticed the wizard had apparently accompanied the last surge of dwarves. "Yes, they—they are quite something."

He would be travelling with these rowdy dwarves. Seeing as they almost killed him at their first meeting, Bilbo supposed they would be good companions for his purpose.

Gandalf smiled, eyes twinkling with merriment. "Let us make sure your guests are properly settled, shall we?"

"Of course," Bilbo replied, returning the smile as he followed Gandalf to the dining room.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Unbeta'd so all mistakes are because I'm a lazy bum (and also because English is not my native tongue)
> 
>  **P.S.** Kili dragged Bilbo to the dining room so he wouldn't have to clean the glory box. And you think Kili wasn't smart.
> 
> As you can see, I've changed the summary a bit. The prompter wanted a Bilbo/Dwarf pairing, and to be honest, I'm still deciding whether to do it or not. I'm leaning heavily on having SLASH (because I like SLASH, alright) but I can do extreme BROMANCE bordering on SLASH. What do you guys think? What relationship would make the story better?
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcome! Help me improve my writing, guys!
> 
> Have an awesome day!
> 
> ~ Vividpast


	4. (Suicidal) Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Ugh, too many tests in college and not enough time to review for it. So, here it is, the 4th rendition of this . . . thing.
> 
> Sorry for the slow pacing of this story. Almost all of my stories are dependent upon the banter between characters (because I love writing banters!), and developing their relationships. I'll quicken the pace though! Just one more chapter after this, and they'll be off Bag End, I promise!
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER:** The Hobbit book/movie is not mine, not matter how I wish it is.

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Bilbo couldn't do it.

Oh, Eru.

Standing outside the dining room, the hobbit watched as the dwarves stuffed themselves with the food Bilbo cooked. They truly were a merry gathering—throwing food at one another, boisterously cheering, loudly slapping their hands on the table, and stomping their little feet on the floor.

"Bombur, catch!" The hatted dwarf threw a piece of chicken at the red-haired dwarf seated at the other end of the table.

The dwarf skillfully caught the meat with his mouth, instantly swallowing it without even chewing. The others cheered as if it was a great achievement. The dwarves barely used the silverware Bilbo set out, opting instead to grab the food with their bare hands.

"Who wants some ale?" Various foodstuff was stepped on as Fili walked the length of the table, holding several pints in his hands. Gandalf easily swat away any food that came near him or his clothes, casually eating in the middle of the disarray.

Bilbo gripped the edge of the archway with white knuckles, face pale. He would have been irritated at the wastage of such good food, and the possible damage to his mother's pottery if he wasn't currently hyperventilating.

Oh, dear. He hadn't considered this.

He had been living in Bag End all by himself for over seventeen years. In all those years, he only entertained guests that were few and far in between. Now, there were thirteen dwarves in his homely smial, and Bag End had never felt so  _small_.

It had been a long time since Bag End had laughs resounding in its halls. He hadn't thought he would be overwhelmed by all the ruckus. As usual, Bilbo had overestimated his ability to adapt to any situation. It was too crowded. There were too many people, too many voices, too many judgmental looks, too much noise . . . too much for an introvert like Bilbo.

He felt like he was under several dwarves again except this time, there was no presence of the sweet grounding pain; there was only his inability to  _breathe_.

Bilbo needed air.

Silently apologizing for being a poor host yet again, he soundlessly slipped away from the celebration to collect himself.

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He puffed away on his pipe, its embers his glowing like little fireflies in the dark.

It was a particularly warm night in the Shire. The wind blowing from the east soothed his frayed nerves, as did the taste and scent of Old Toby.

He blew a perfect smoke ring into the night sky, the circle engulfing a hundred stars inside.

A loud cheer was heard inside Bag End, followed by a grimaced-provoking _crash_. Oh, Eru. He hoped the dwarves weren't destroying anything irreplaceable. He didn't want to give Drogo any less of the Bag End Bilbo received.

Bilbo sighed. He shall have to get used to the chaos that were his dwarven companions or he'll never have the courage to go out his front door. This was his only opportunity for an exciting death. Just a few more failed attempts at conversation and he would never have to get used to anyone or anything ever again.

Sitting down after all the excitement, Bilbo was made aware of just how  _exhausted_  he was. Not only did he cook half the day away, he had also dealt with the dwarves’ rowdy behavior. And so, he was perfectly content to rest for a while and enjoy the peace outside of his home.

He heard heavy steps on the pavement and glanced up. He was prepared to greet the hobbit that was perhaps taking a nice evening stroll, and apologize for the noise coming from his smial. What he wasn't prepared for, however, was the sight of a tall dwarf in a majestic furred coat glaring at him. His dark hair was like long curtains framing his head, large nose jutting out of his face like a mountain. Unlike the other dwarves (well, except Kili who barely had whiskers on his face), his beard was cropped near his chin.

"Hobbit," the dwarf called out with an impatient huff, emphasizing the 't'.

Bilbo stupidly blinked up at him. He thought all thirteen dwarves had arrived. Well, he didn't even think to count them so he was clearly wrong.

"Where might I find—" The dwarf's gaze landed on Bag End's round door. He didn't finish his sentence, choosing instead to walk inside the gate fence of Bilbo's home. The hobbit observed the dwarf as he startled, seemingly realizing that Bilbo was located  _inside_  the fence.

The dark-haired dwarf glanced at Bag End then at Bilbo. His gaze rove over the hobbit, taking in his elegant waistcoat, soft round face, unruly curls, and big furry feet. His brows furrowed—either in confusion or disapproval, Bilbo knew not. Bilbo stared back, still puffing on his pipe, silently wondering whether the dwarf was a bit soft in the head. The dwarf had been looking unblinkingly at Bilbo for a while now.

The dwarf cleared his throat then. "You live in this hobbit hole?" He asked gruffly, gesturing at Bag End.

"It's called a smial," Bilbo replied evenly, used to correcting Big Folk on their mistakes about hobbit culture. "And yes, I do." He exhaled another two smoke rings before saying, "The other dwarves are inside. You should go in before they eat all the food."

"Dwarrows." The dwarf said apropos of nothing.

"Pardon me?" Bilbo asked politely.

"Dwarrows. Not dwarves. Dwarrows is the plural of a dwarf," the dwarf informed magnanimously, like he was imparting some great knowledge onto the world and not just correcting Bilbo's grammar.

"Truly?" Nevertheless, the fact that 'dwarrows' was an actual term piqued Bilbo's interest. Ever the scholar, the hobbit inquired, "What about dwarven females? Are they also referred to as 'dwarrows'?"

The dwarf snorted. "They are called dwarrowdams, Hobbit."

Bilbo hummed. Dwarven culture, especially their language, had too few records about it. Hearsays had it that dwarrows were secretive of their heritage and thus, go through great lengths not to share the knowledge with other races.

"Thank you for informing me, Dwarf," Bilbo replied in turn.

The dwarf's glare was back, burning a hole through Bilbo's head. The hobbit would have been more scared if he hadn't been planning his death for years. As it was, nothing the dwarf could do to him would be worse than what he would be doing to himself.

"You mock me?" the dwarf growled, marching towards the bench Bilbo was sitting in.

The hobbit had to crane his neck to stare up at the dwarf's face. Bilbo frowned, confused. "No . . . ?" What did he do wrong? He usually didn't screw up until at least five minutes into a conversation. It's been less than three. This was a new record. "What was it I said that offends you so?" Bilbo asked, going over his sentence in his mind and finding nothing insulting in it.

"You called me 'Dwarf'!" the dwarf all but roared.

"And you called me 'Hobbit'." Bilbo replied, voice rising in incredulity. "Are we not a dwarf and a hobbit?" Perhaps the dwarf really was soft in the head. Honestly, being offended at being called he was!

The dwarf paused, visibly faltering. "I . . . You truly find nothing degrading in being called a 'Hobbit'?" He gave Bilbo a scrutinizing look, gauging his reaction.

"I would prefer to be called by my name, Bilbo Baggins. But there's nothing wrong with being called what I am." Bilbo was thoroughly bewildered now. Was there a faux pas he was completely overlooking?

With the 'you are strange' look the dwarf was shooting him, Bilbo supposed there was. Whispers of 'Mad Baggins' echoed in his ears, cruelly taunting him. The hobbit squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, forcefully dispelling the phantom voices. His grip on his pipe tightened to the point that the wood was creaking in protest.

Bilbo let out a tired and resigned sigh for the nth time that day alone. He was too exhausted to be dealing with rude dwarves that may or may not have a mental-affliction.

He got to his feet, neck already aching from looking up at the dwarf. He tapped out the ashes from his pipe. "It has been a long day. I'm sure it has been for you as well." Bilbo added the last sentence as an afterthought. "Why don't you come inside and eat? And I'll—Oh dear, I haven't even prepared the rooms yet!" exclaimed the hobbit, slapping a hand on his forehead. More to himself, he muttered, "Surely, you won't be staying in an inn. The nearest one is an hour away by feet. I haven't aired out the cushions. It's all probably dusty—"

"My Company shall take care of their own," interjected the dwarf. In a flat tone he added, "As they always have since we've lost our home." With that parting statement, the dwarf strode away, heading towards Bag End.

" _Your_  Company?" Bilbo asked, hurriedly follow the dwarf. The other's stride was wide and fast, and Bilbo struggled to keep up.

"Yes," was all the dwarf said before he rapped his knuckles on the round door.

Before he could help it, Bilbo shot the dwarf a pitying look. Yes, definitely mentally-afflicted, this one. "Um, there is a doorbell right here." Bilbo pointed at the string connected to a bronze bell that was beside the door. "And," the hobbit pushed the green door open with one hand. "I couldn't lock the door if I was outside, could I?"

The dwarf shot Bilbo a particularly scathing look, not that the hobbit noticed. Instead, the hobbit's wide eyes were drawn to a glowing rune carved on the wooden door. It appeared similar to the Westron letter 'F'.

"What in Eru's name . . ." Bilbo leaned down, fingers running through the wood. He was quite sure this mark wasn't here this morning. Who on Middle Earth had vandalized his home?

"It is Gandalf's symbol," the dwarf behind him muttered with a brusque tone before pushing past Bilbo and entering Bag End.

" _Gandalf?_ " Ooh, that blasted wizard!

"Bilbo, my dear, there you are!"

Speak of the wizard and he shall appear. Trailing after Gandalf like ducklings were the other dwarrrows. They were chattering excitedly with one another. However, as their gazes landed on the dwarf by the front door, they abruptly stopped—both in their conversations and their steps.

Bilbo opened his mouth to demand answers about his door but the recently arrived dwarf beat him to it.

"Gandalf, I thought you said this place was easy to find," the dwarf said, removing his outerwear. Bilbo, by routine, grabbed for it and hung it right beside the other dwarrows' coats. The dwarf merely raised an unimpressed brow before continuing, "I lost my way. Twice."

Twice! Why, Bag End was one of the most noticeable smial of them all!  _Not only mentally-afflicted but directionally-challenged as well. . . What is Gandalf thinking?_

"I wouldn't have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door."

The statement brought back Bilbo's anger.

"Gandalf!" Bilbo placed his fists on his hips, eyes burning with fury as he looked up at the wizard. "What have you done with my door?" Bilbo pointed at the glowing rune. "This was painted just a week ago!" The hobbit didn't want to give Drogo any more work than he had to. He didn't want to give away Bag End in poor condition.

"Ah, yes. I've carved a mark on it so the dwarves could easily find it." Gandalf replied with a smile. The smile dropped as Bilbo continued glaring up at him. The hobbit appeared as intimidating as a bunny but the wizard knew that hobbits, especially of the Took side, were never quite as innocent as they seemed. Gandalf cleared his throat. "Y-Yes, it was terribly rude of me to put it there without your permission. I apologize."

"And can you . . . magicked it away?" Bilbo crossly asked, folding his arms on his chest.

Gandalf looked extremely offended at the suggestion. "Magic is used for things only of outmost importance, Bilbo. Not for doors that just needs a little bit of paint to fix!"

Bilbo let out a frustrated sigh. "I thought as much." He closed the door, already thinking of adding an apology in his letter to Drogo.

"I see you have met the leader of our Company." Gandalf said, nodding at the last dwarf.

Bilbo's brows rose with surprise; he turned to the aforementioned dwarf.

"You are the leader?" asked Bilbo. Now in the proper lighting, the hobbit could see the regal bearing of the dwarf. His eyes were old and his face was set in a hard determined edge. The dwarf had definitely pegged the 'fallen soldier' look.

For the sake of the other dwarrows, he hoped the dwarf was not actually as brain-addled as he seemed to Bilbo.

"Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain," the dwarf said tersely, not even attempting to bow. He gave Bilbo a look that one would give to a bug in his path. Bilbo tried and failed not to feel inadequate. After a few uncomfortable seconds, Thorin released the hobbit from his scrutinizing gaze.

"We have much to discuss, Gandalf," the dwarven leader nodded at the wizard before stalking away towards one of Bag End's many halls.

The other dwarrows followed after without hesitation, gravitating to him like magnets to a pole.

Bilbo frowned after them. "Where are they going?" He and Gandalf exchanged confused glances. "The dining room's at the other hall."

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Unbeta'd so all mistakes are because I'm a lazy bum (and also because English is not my native tongue)
> 
>  **P.S.** I researched about the mark on Bilbo's door. In the book, it's not really an 'F' but 3 runes symbolizing a Burglar, Excitement, and Reward. But the movie showed only an 'F' -like symbol. Apparently, in Cirth (the language which Khuzdul was based on), it's actually a letter 'G'. That's why it could denote 'Gandalf'
> 
> Thank you for all your suggestions about the bromance/slash thing! So far, I haven't decided yet whether to have a SLASH pairing with Bilbo but there will definitely be a BROMANCE. Perhaps Bilbo with all thirteen of the dwarves (and maybe some elves and men). But I will probably have Thorin as the best friend because, well, considering happened in the last Hobbit movie, THINK OF THE POSSIBILITIES! *evil laughter*. So many opportunities to torture Bilbo . . . Wait, I meant *clears throat*, so many opportunities to cure Bilbo of his depression, of course . . .
> 
> Yeah, so if you guys don't like a Thorin/Bilbo bromance, I apologize, but this is not the story for you. Happy readings!
> 
> Constructive criticisms are very much welcome! Help me improve my writing, guys!
> 
> Have an awesome day!
> 
> ~ Vividpast


	5. (Suicidal) Planning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Welp, 5th chapter. Thanks for all the comments, favorites, bookmarks, and follows! It’s like 1 AM here so I can’t think of anything to say . . . Maybe later.  
>  **DISCLAIMER:** Me no own Hobbit. Me just have fun

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After pointing the dwarrows to the right direction of the dining room, Bilbo decided to clean up. There was a lot of work to do.

When he entered the kitchen, however, he was pleasantly surprised to find it completely spotless. Sure, the washed stacks of plates on the corner still needed to be put away. But other than that, there were no crumbs on or under the counters, no furniture destroyed, and no traces of mud on the floor. He hoped the dining room was much the same.

"They will not come," Bilbo heard Thorin say as he came in. "They say this quest is ours and ours alone."

The dwarrows' reaction ranged from mild sighs of defeat to angry mutterings in an unfamiliar language. Bilbo, meanwhile, was frowning in disapproval. Thorin was eating a mere gruel that Bilbo most assuredly did not prepare. Had the dwarrows truly eaten everything?

Bilbo was tempted to just nastily let Thorin eat the meager food. The dwarf had been terribly rude to him even if Bilbo had done nothing but welcome _his_ Company.

In the end, the Baggins in him won. He could never be so cruel to a guest. Oh, this would not do at all.

"Bilbo, my dear fellow," Gandalf called out. Bilbo looked up to the wizard, who was at the hobbit's height even though he was already sitting. "Let us have a little more light."

Bilbo nodded rapidly and went to get another candle to light up. As soon as he had the lit candle on the holder, he placed it before the map Gandalf pulled out from his robes.

Bilbo couldn't help but give more than a cursory glance at the parchment. He had always liked maps of any kind. There were strange runes written at the margins and "The Lonely Mountain," was only few of the texts written in Westron.

The hobbit shook himself out of his trance, and headed to his second pantry. He heard the strong voices of the dwarrows droning in the background and paid it no mind. Bilbo hoped he wasn't missing anything important . . . Not that he needed to know the details anyway since he was not going to see this quest through the end. It was most probable that he would die less than halfway to it.

Bilbo quickly whipped out a simple meal of fried chops and roasted lamb, sprinkling them with rosemary. There were some blueberry pies left in the kitchen so Bilbo just added honeyed bread to the dessert.

When he came back with the tray of food, the dwarves were cheering at some thing or another, yelling boisterously all at the same time. Even Thorin was on his feet, joining in the shouting, gesturing wildly.

"Forget it," Balin said, silencing them with his somber tone.

All the other dwarrows sat down, frowning at Balin like he was an old grump purposely trying to ruin their fun.

"There is no way into the mountain," Balin continued and was about to say more but Gandalf beat him to it.

"That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true," Gandalf interjected, revealing an important-looking key out of nowhere.

Bilbo gave it but a passing glance. He didn't care for the details of the quest except if they pertained to his possible demise. A key didn't seem relevant.

Instead, he seized the bowl of . . . something barely edible . . . from Thorin's grasp. Fervently listening to whatever Gandalf was saying, the dwarf merely let him. The hobbit carefully set the pies and meats before Thorin. He grabbed what he assumed was Thorin's mug and went to refill it.

"The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth and no small amount of courage," Gandalf was saying. His glance at Bilbo went unnoticed as the hobbit focused on gingerly placing down the mug of ale. "But if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done."

"That's why we need a burglar!" one of the young dwarrows piped up.

"And a good one too," Bilbo couldn't help but put his two coins in. "An expert, I'd imagine." And one who would be brave enough to face the dragon that the mountain housed.

"And are you?" someone asked.

Bilbo glanced around and realized with a start that everyone was staring at him. "Am I what?"

"He said he's an expert!" the dwarf with an ear trumpet exclaimed, laughing in delight.

Bilbo's eyes widened as he piece two and two together. "Me? A burglar? I've never stolen a thing in my life!"

Gandalf frowned. "Bilbo, my dear, are you already having second thoughts? Why, just this morning, you were so excited!"

"You never mentioned anything about being a burglar!" Bilbo retorted, slightly hysterical. "I can't be—I just—"

"Didn't I?" Gandalf hummed thoughtfully. "Must've slipped my mind."

 _Slipped your mind?_ Bilbo almost shouted frantically.

The hobbit thought he would be a tag-along, another member to add just so they could at least increase in numbers. He thought that his participation wouldn't matter in the long run. He never expected that he would have such an important role. Why, when they reach the mountain, the success of the quest would depend entirely on him!

Bilbo never planned to reach the mountain.

Oh dear, oh dear.

"Well, I'm afraid I have to agree with, Master Baggins," Balin started, giving Bilbo an apologetic look. "He's hardly burglar material."

"Aye, the wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves." Dwalin gave a particularly disgusted look at the hobbit's whole being.

"Oi! I think Master Boggins is just fine!" Kili tried to defend him, bless the lad.

All sorts of arguments broke out amongst the dwarrows. Only Thorin didn't join in, opting instead to give Bilbo an undecipherable look.

Oh no. They were planning not to take him at all! Bilbo wrung his hands. Of course, his uselessness would be his bane. He must do something. This was his only chance to die out there in the wild!

Before he could thoroughly think things through, he spoke out amidst the dispute. "Um, excuse me. Excuse me!" All heads spun to him, and all the quarrelling silenced. Bilbo cleared his throat, pushing down the nerves threatening to overwhelm him at such scrutinizing gazes. "I—I may not be a b-burglar but hobbits are incredibly light on their feet. Given, well, their size, we can, if we choose to, walk unseen and unheard by most." There, that was convincing enough.

"And," Gandalf looked approvingly at Bilbo. "While a dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of the hobbit is all but unknown to him which gives us a distinct advantage."

Bilbo nodded vigorously at Gandalf's words, looking around the Company. Some were seemingly convinced by the logic behind the words while most appeared doubtful still.

To Thorin, the wizard said, "You asked me to find the 14th member of this Company, and I have chosen Bilbo." With a nod to the hobbit, he continued, "There's a lot to him than appearances suggest. And he's got a great deal more to offer than any of you know."

Well, Bilbo doubted the last part because he certainly was as soft and as weak as he appeared. But as if the wizard could read his mind, Gandalf added shrewdly, "Including himself."

Most of the dwarves were swayed, looking at Bilbo with less scrutiny and more curiosity. Trust the wizard to find the right words. However, Thorin seemed hesitant still, deliberating for a few moments. Bilbo chewed his bottom lip, praying to Yavanna that the leader of the Company allowed him to join.

Gandalf leaned towards the dwarf, meeting his gaze, and said, "You must trust me on this."

Thorin contemplated for a second longer, giving the hobbit a skeptical look, but gave in eventually. "Very well. We will do it your way." To Balin, he said, "Give him the contract."

Bilbo audibly sighed in relief. Good, good. He was to join the quest as a burglar—wait a moment!

Balin pulled out a folded scrap of parchment and handed it to the hobbit. "It's just the usual. Summary of out-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements and so forth."

Bilbo mechanically reached for the contract. Funeral arrangements? Good to know Bilbo's body wouldn't just be left to the wolves of the wild.

"Eat your food," Bilbo muttered, absently patting Thorin on the shoulder. In the background, several snickers were heard.

The hobbit opened up the parchment, moving to an area with better lighting so he may read it. He was a sensible Baggins, after all. Although he had already agreed to go, he wouldn't sign anything he didn't thoroughly analyzed.

"Terms: Cash on delivery, up to but not exceeding one-fourteenth of total profit, if any." Not that Bilbo was going to get any. Oh, he hoped the dwarrows succeed, though he preferred to be long dead before that happened.

"Present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as thereof, including, but not limited lacerations," Bilbo's eyes lit up, finding part of the contract he aimed to encounter. Laceration from whom, he wondered? "Evisceration" _Sounds painful_ , Bilbo though with slight wince. _I do wish it's followed by a quick death_. "Incineration."

"Aye." The cheerful hatted fellow—Bofur, was it?—replied with glee. "He'll melt the flesh off yer bones in the blink of an eye."

"Truly?" Bilbo turned his face away from the dwarves so they couldn't see the smile climbing to his face. Being killed by a dragon. . . The flame would burn off his skin, would probably be excruciating but oh, the blissful darkness and relief that followed with be completely worth it. Plus, no hobbit had ever been killed by such majestic creatures. Just the thought of it made his heart beat faster in anticipation.

"You alright, laddie?" Balin's amused voice filtered into his morbid thoughts.

"Yes, yes, quite fine." Bilbo tried to hide the smile from his voice.

"Think furnace with wings." Bofur seemed to be a dwarf with a mission. Though what that mission's goal was, Bilbo wasn't quite sure. "Flash of light, searing pain, then poof! Yer nothing more than a pile of ash."

Still, the dwarf was feeding Bilbo's imagination. The hobbit pondered about what he'll see at the end of the dragon's flame. It must be a sight, all those flames dancing towards you to take you away into a heavenly and painless existence. Should Bilbo, by some miracle, reach the mountain, his demise would be most assured. He would be the one facing the dragon and tasting its fire, after all.

By every word, Bilbo was sure that joining this adventure was his best idea yet.

Bilbo spun on his heel to fetch a quill from inside a cabinet. There was no need to read the whole contract after all. Getting a quill, he placed the parchment on the dining table again.

"I sign here, yes?" Bilbo pointed at the blank space at the end of the contract, just below 'Witnessed: Balin, son of Fundin' and beside 'Burglar:'

"A-Aye," someone answered.

"A . . . Are ye sure yer a'right, lad?" A concerned voice asked. "Ye didn't knock a few screws loose at yer fall earlier, did you?"

Bilbo looked up at Bofur. The hobbit noticed he was humming to himself and promptly stopped. "Yes, quite fine. Why do you ask?"

The hobbit blinked confusedly at the anxious looks the hatted dwarf was shooting him. It was then that Bilbo realized that everything was still and silent; all eyes in the room were on him. Most of the dwarrows mirrored Bofur's expression. Others were giving him suspicious looks, two of which were Gandalf and Thorin themselves.

"Is there something wrong?" Bilbo frowned. And promptly understood his mistake. He had been grinning ear-to-ear, being unable to control his mirth. It was definitely a sight most would find suspicious, especially when they were talking about a fearsome dragon.

"This quest is no child's play, Hobbit," Thorin's voice was quiet but no less earthshaking in its accusation and fury.

Bilbo chanced a glance at the dwarven leader. The hobbit had never seen such a look of utter disgust and condescension directed at him. He stiffened, chest aching with sudden and inexplicable _hurt_. The other hobbits' repulsion, Bilbo could perhaps understand. They had known him his whole life, and knew Bilbo well enough to declare him inadequate. What had he done to Thorin for the dwarf to treat him such after less than a day of knowing him?

He released a shaky breath. He met Thorin's angry gaze head-on and calmly explained, "I do not mean to mock your quest. I am simply . . . eager to get out of the Shire."

Thorin's eyes narrowed. "This is not a vacation. It is a journey wrought with danger, borne from nature and evil creatures alike." Oh, Bilbo knew those facts very well. He was hoping for it. "I cannot guarantee your safety." Bilbo sincerely hoped not! "Nor will I be responsible for your fate."

Gandalf shot Thorin a stern look but said nothing. The other dwarrows were watching the scene with bated breath, glancing back and forth between the hobbit and their leader.

"Master Oakenshield," Bilbo interjected before the conversation devolved any more than it had to. "Rest assured that I expect _nothing_ from you except to allow me in this adventure." After a beat, Bilbo decided to add, "The moment I become a burden to the Company, you can leave me behind wherever you deem it." After all, Bilbo didn't want to hinder the Company from their goal. He was already selfishly going on the quest with no intention of living halfway to their destination.

"Bilbo!" Gandalf exclaimed, aghast.

"What?" Bilbo blinked confusedly at the wizard.

Thorin's eyes had widened with surprise mixed with disbelief. The rest of the older dwarrows' expressions were much the same.

"I'm sure it won't come to that, laddie," Balin said with a reassuring smile.

"And no one would be left behind, Bilbo," Gandalf said, voice determined. "I will make sure of it."

"Aye, Master Boggins!" Fili piped up.

"I bet you'll make a great cook!" Kili followed. "The stuff you prepared was delicious."

Bilbo's lips curled into a genuine smile before he could help it. "Thank you." The hobbit would certainly be glad if he could be of some use.

He brought his gaze back to Thorin. "Do we understand each other, Master Oakenshield?"

The dwarf's stare seemed less hostile this time around. He nodded curtly and gestured at the contract. "Sign it then, Burglar."

 _Finally_ , Bilbo thought. He placed his name on the contract with a flourish. Holding it up into the light, Bilbo felt a giddy lightness in his chest; a weight he didn't even know he was carrying was suddenly gone.

Finally, he would meet his doom.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m really sleepy.  
>  Constructive criticisms are welcome! Help me improve my writing, guys!  
> Have an awesome day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	6. (Suicidal) Singing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Well, I thought about the SLASH pairing and . . . hmm, it'll probably have a very SLOWBURN Thorin/Bilbo. OH, THE OPPORTUNITIES! THE ANGST! THE CRACK! If you have watched the last Hobbit movie, you'll know what I'm talking about. Oh god, that movie killed me.
> 
> Anyway, Bilbo will bromance everyone so it's pretty much Bilbo/everyone harem, with Thilbo as the main pairing. Note that Bagginshield is not just the main focus though. I will also be developing Bilbo's relationship with the other dwarves (and elves. and Men). So yeah, toodles to y'all who don't like Thilbo ~. Happy readings!
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER:** Me no own Hobbit. Me just have fun

 

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"Everything appears to be in order," Balin said after looking closely at the hobbit's signature. He gave Bilbo a genial smile. "Welcome, Bilbo, to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield."

A small wave of cheers went through the room. Bilbo himself smile; part of it because of the dwarrows' misplaced enthusiasm of little old him joining the quest while another part was because it was finally official—he was going to die.

And, of course, that was when mandatory back-slapping started. Bilbo was just glad his spine didn't break after that.

"If you're finished eating," Bilbo started, rubbing the back of his shoulders. "Come."

Bilbo led the dwarrows into the drawing room.

While starting up the fireplace, he told them, "I apologize but I haven't prepared the rooms yet." He arranged the logs to better feed the fire. "It'll just be two hours at most. You can all stay here in the meantime."

"I'll help!"

Bilbo turned around to see one of the younger dwarrows raising a hand, a small shy smile on his lips.

The hobbit shook his head. "Oh no, no, no. I can't let my guests—"

"But it'll be quicker with more hands, wouldn't it, Master Hobbit?" asked a dwarf with gray locks and several intricate but neat braids on his hair.

The Baggins in Bilbo was vehemently against the very idea of letting his guests do anything.

Still, a few minutes later, Bilbo found himself with a handful of dwarven helpers. It seemed the stubbornness of dwarrows rivalled that of Tooks.

Bofur, the morbidly cheerful dwarf, the hobbit already knew. There was shy Ori, one of the youngest of the dwarrows. He was actually the scribe of the Company, tasked to record every important detail of the quest. Ori's older brother, Dori, was fussy in mannerisms that if it weren't for his beard, he would be mistaken for a hobbit. Dori was extremely overprotective of young Ori, which was understandable given the kind of journey they were in. Gloin was a husband and a father, and thus, was adept at any kind of household chore. He clearly missed his son and wife, judging by the way he kept mentioning them every few minutes. Surprisingly — because Bilbo thought they were far too wild to ever have done a chore in their lives – Fili and Kili volunteered to help.

The seven of them decided to pair up and delegated the workload. Because Fili and Kili couldn't be separated, Bilbo worked with one of the rooms together with them.

"Amad always forces us to take care of our own beds and rooms," Fili shared as he dusted a blue blanket.

"Lest she'll give us an earful about them," Kili added, bringing out the pillows from the cabinets. "Almost miss dinner because of her lectures."

"Amad?" Bilbo inquired, sweeping the floor clean of dust.

"Our mother," Fili replied with a smile. "Lady Dis, daughter of Thrain, granddaughter of Thror."

Bilbo gave a thoughtful hum. He then froze as the last statement sank in. "D-Daughter of Thrain? Wasn't Master Oakenshield's . . .?"

Kili laughed at Bilbo's wide-eyed expression. "Aye. We are Uncle Thorin's sister-sons. Or nephews, as is the usual term."

"Oh," was all Bilbo could reply with. Without his brain's explicit permission, his mouth opened and said, "I hope you haven’t inherited Master Oakenshield’s directionally-challenged disposition."

Fili's and Kili's howls of laughter echoed loudly throughout Bag End. Bilbo flushed.

"W-Well, it's true. He said he got lost twice," Bilbo said defensively. “There’s only one road in Hobbiton and it leads directly to Bag End!” Honestly, how could anyone get lost? _Twice?_

"Oh, Mahal," A few snickers escaped Kili's mouth. "I would love to see Uncle's expression when I tell him about this, Master Boggins."

"Please, don't tell your uncle. He'll dismember me." While Bilbo was excited at the prospect of death, he would like to get out of his front door at the very least. "And if you can't even call me properly by my last name, just call me Bilbo." The hobbit was getting tired of correcting the brothers.

Fili and Kili grinned. "Call us Fili," the flaxen-haired dwarf started.

"And Kili then!" Kili finished, bowing with a flourish.

Bilbo stared at the brothers, pausing in smoothing the duvet covers. "Were you purposely mispronouncing Baggins just so I could give you my first name?"

All Bilbo received were twin smiles of mischief.

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Half-an-hour later, all the chambers had become livable, if Bilbo might say himself. In the end, he was glad for all the help because it had been a long day; he got tired not ten minutes after starting. Bilbo didn't know where he would have gotten the energy to finish by himself.

"The rooms are prepared," he informed the dwarrows in the drawing room, running a hand through his curls. The dwarrows lay scattered throughout the room, relaxing as they smoking on their respective pipes. "There are only five available bedrooms so I'm afraid some of you'll have to share." He said before stifling a yawn behind his hand.

"Thank you, Bilbo," Balin, sitting in one of the cushy armchairs, gave the hobbit a grateful nod.

To Bilbo's surprise, Thorin, who was brooding by the fireplace, suddenly spoke up. "Get some rest, Burglar." Smoke curled out of his lips, averted eyes reflecting the light of the fire. "We leave at dawn."

Bilbo wanted to ask if Thorin tried hard to act like a mysterious majestic figure or if it just came naturally to him. Unfortunately, he was much too tired for any other interaction with anyone alive. So, he just nodded at the dwarrows and headed to his own bedroom.

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Bilbo sat atop his bed with a sigh of relief, already in his nightclothes. He fluffed up his pillow, contemplating about the happenings of the day.

Just this morning, he was a normal hobbit planning to content himself with a normal death. And now, he was part of a very dangerous adventure that would not only ensure his demise but do it in such a way no hobbit had done. Bilbo felt a ball of giddiness rumbling in his chest. Oh, he hoped his death would be a truly exciting one!

A deep-throated humming shook the floors of his room. Bilbo blinked, listening to several voices synchronizing into one somber but melodic tune.

" _δ ~ Far over the misty mountains cold ~ δ ~ "_

"Oh, that's very nice," Bilbo couldn't help but mutter, closing his eyes.

The song narrated the tragedy of how the dwarves lost their home to the terrible dragon; there was a sense of nostalgia, grief, and longing mixed in the low tunes of their voices. The hobbit felt their homesickness keenly—can even relate to it. Nothing ever really felt like home since his parents died.

Bilbo laid down on the bed, the music swirling around him like warm embraces of parents to their children. Every word weighed down heavily in his very bones, in his very soul. His chest  _ached_ fiercely from a feeling he knew not. The hobbit welcomed it all, preferring the painful sensations instead of the numbness he was used to feeling.

The dwarrows' voices were harmonizing beautifully. Oh, the song was very lovely indeed.

Before he knew it, Bilbo was lulled into a dreamless sleep.

" _δ ~ The fire was red, it flaming spread ~ δ ~ The trees like torches, blazed with light ~ δ ~"_

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Bilbo woke up the next morning wanting to do absolutely  _nothing_.

"Oh dear," Bilbo moaned, placing a forearm on his forehead.

He assumed that the notion of an approaching doom would stave off his lethargy for at least a few days. After all, he only had a few days left to live! It had been less than two days, and yet here it was, preventing Bilbo from even getting up from the bed.

His limbs felt like lead, refusing to obey his commands. His mind was clear enough but he lacked the urge to even do anything. He blankly stared at the cracks of the ceiling, the soft light of the approaching dawn making everything surreal.

He still had to pack and still had to send out his letters. He needed to prepare breakfast for the thirteen dwarrows. Oh, Eru. He had so many things to do! And each second he spent just lazily laying around would be a minute delay in their journey. Or the Company would just decide to leave Bilbo behind.

The thought encouraged him to sit up at least. He closed his eyes, trying to get his mind to work. He imagined the steep cliffs they would be walking, the nasty blade-ends of the goblins, the fast-flowing rivers of the wild, the recklessness of the dwarrows in the Company when handling their weapons, and many more scenarios. The sluggishness of his limbs decreased a bit at the notions.

"Just a few more days, Bilbo," The hobbit murmured softly to himself. "And everything would be gone." No more empty aches in his chest, no more judgmental looks, no more burdening others with his existence, and most especially, no more pretending that every breath he took wasn't weighing down on his soul.

He got to his feet, and stretched. Lethargy was tempting him to just lay in bed all day, as he always had done whenever he was feeling particularly useless. But Bilbo determinedly shook it off.

He had work to do.

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Thankfully, Bilbo didn't need to pack much.

He didn't have any clothes suited for travelling so he just brought the first few waistcoats, trousers, and tunics he could get his hands on. His pipe and all the Old Toby he had, of course, went to the pockets of his satchel. All the coins he had saved up amounted to a big fat pouch; he put half in different parts of his bag and the other half was in a sack tied around his belt. Then, he strapped on an unused sleeping bag atop his satchel. (His father and he was supposed to go camping, which just consisted of sleeping on the ground of their garden, but such plans were cut short by the Fell Winter). He looked around his bedroom, looking for anything else to pack, when his gaze landed on an upturned frame by his nightstand.

Bilbo righted the frame and realized it was a portrait of his parents. He hadn't seen it in years. He traced the laugh lines in his mother's face and the crow's feet by his father's eyes. He stared fondly at the smiles on their faces, eyeing each other sideways as if sharing some great secret. Once upon a time, an overwhelming sense of loneliness would well up inside him whenever he saw paintings of his parents. They reminded him that the people who truly cared for him were long gone. Now, surprisingly, all Bilbo could feel was a great sense of relief and hope.

 _I'll see you again, Mother, Father. Soon_.

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"Food~" was Fili's first greeting as he stumbled into the kitchen. His braids were undone and his hair was in a golden disarray.

"Hungry~" followed Kili, dark hair in the same messy state as his brother's.

Bilbo glanced up from frying the eggs and bacons. "I'm almost done here. Would you two be a dear and set up the table?" His voice was barely above hearing range, hoarse and timid as it was whenever he didn't want to talk to anyone. Still, he would have to endure. "You would get your food a lot quicker." He decided to give the boys additional incentive.

The brothers nodded vigorously, swiftly grabbed several utensils and plates, and practically ran to the dining room. Bilbo couldn't help but give a small smile at their enthusiasm. He hoped he could be as energetic. Various clatters resounded from the dining room as Fili and Kili set about their errand.

It wasn't long before the other dwarrows' came filtering down from their rooms, attracted by the waft of delicious breakfast. Their hair were in all sorts of chaos but they didn't seem to mind, opting instead to prioritize breakfast.

"I will help you, Master Baggins."

Bilbo turned to see a big red-headed dwarf marching in the doorframe. "Oh, no, no. No need. I can do it by myself."

"Nonsense," the dwarf waved off, snatching a kitchen knife and a chopping block. "I am the cook in this quest and I will not be usurp in my role."

Bilbo's eyes widened. "I'm sorry! I didn't know—What Kili said last night—"

The dwarf gave a hearty laugh at the hobbit's flustered face. "I jest, Master Baggins. I would need all the help I can get to feed this lot, especially since," Here, the dwarf patted his own rounded stomach. "I eat twice as much as these dwarrows combined!"

Bilbo smiled, mood lifting slightly. "I'll be happy to help, Mister . . .?"

"Bombur. Just Bombur, mind. None of that Mister stuff." The dwarf replied, already chopping the vegetables Bilbo needed for the stew.

"Then you may just call me Bilbo." Bilbo returned.

"Very well, Bilbo," Bombur said, grinning. "Now, let's get these lot fed so we can be on our way."

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Breakfast, though not as raucous as the dinner the night before, was still quite a merry affair. Foodstuff flew everywhere and at every face, except at Gandalf's and Thorin's. Gandalf probably used magic to prevent any food stains and Thorin perhaps used his sour expression to scare the food away.

Bilbo reticently stayed in one corner of the room, far away from all the chaos. He was too tired for this kind of behavior far early in the morning. Fortunately, none of the dwarrows' noticed that the hobbit scarcely said a word throughout the morning. Unfortunately, a certain wizard did.

"Come, Bilbo. Join us," Gandalf gestured him closer. "What are you doing there? Are you not hungry?"

Bilbo shook his head. Even though he barely ate the night before, he wasn't terribly hungry. It was truly one of those days when Bilbo would starve himself because he neither had the inclination to cook nor the appetite to eat. Only the thought of the dwarrows' hunger and the journey ahead forced him to do anything that morning.

"I'm not really hungry, Gandalf," he said honestly. "I should go pack the rest of the food anyway." Bilbo gave the wizard one last reassuring smile before slipping out of the dining room.

A certain dwarven leader and wizard exchanged suspicious looks but said nothing more.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Unbeta'ed so all mistakes are because I'm really sleepy.
> 
>  **P.S.** The giving of first names signifies that a road to friendship is open. If you give your first name but it isn't reciprocated, it means you have yet to earn their trust and so, they're not ready to be friends with you yet.
> 
> Yup, sorry for breaking my promise. Next time, they're really leaving Bag End!
> 
> Lethargy or sleepiness and loss of appetite is actually a symptom most prevalent among the clinically depressed. So, yeah, had to insert that . . .
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcome! Help me improve my writing, guys!
> 
> Have an awesome day!
> 
> ~ Vividpast


	7. (Suicidal) Leaving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** OMG, thanks for all the favorites, follows, bookmarks, (over a hundred!) kudos. What the hell is it in this story that’s attracting you wonderful people? Whatever it is, you guys made my day with all your comments!
> 
> Special thanks to ladysassafras for sharing your insight! You describe the Bilbo I truly want to express and I can’t believe you got it spot-on! I really do hope I do his characterization justice in the next chapters.
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER:** The Hobbit is not mine. I am not a 100+ year-old male genius. Nor am I an awesome director with initials PJ

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While the dwarrows were eating, Bilbo packed the rest of his stuff away and the rest of the food in the second pantry. It was an hour later that Bilbo learned a most disturbing fact.

“Ponies?” Bilbo squeaked out. “We will be riding ponies?”

“What, did ye think we would walk all the way?” Dwalin snorted, strapping his axes onto his back. “Aye, we’ll be riding ponies. We'll be buying ‘em when we pass by Bree.”

“Of course,” Bilbo murmured, sighing in resignation. He should have expected it, truly, with the day he was having. He hoped he quickly adapt to riding because being trampled by ponies wasn’t quite on his list of glorious deaths.

The hobbit gave the dwarf his share of the food for the first day of the journey, as Bilbo already did with the other dwarrows. The gruff dwarf accepted the wrapped meat and stuffed it in his trouser pocket.

“Thank ye, lad.” Dwalin grunted before striding out of Bag End.

Bilbo hitched his pack higher up his shoulder and followed after. The other dwarrows plus a wizard were milling outside; the younger ones were chatting happily with each other while the older ones were waiting in silence. Bilbo noticed some of the hobbits peeking out of their windows, staring aghast at the dwarrows that dare disturb the peace.

Bilbo, knowing it was his last chance, waved as enthusiastically as he can to his neighbors. Most of the hobbits glared viciously at him and aggressively pulled down their curtains. The ones who didn’t react hostile plastered on an overly saccharine smile and waved back. Bilbo, used to it, didn’t feel at all saddened or angry at their actions.

He was just locking up the door when he felt someone sidle next to him.

“Yer neighbors didn’t look too excited to see ye,” Bofur said, glancing wide-eyed around the neighborhood.

Bilbo shrugged as he turned around to face the dwarf. “Most hobbits are wary of outsiders and of hobbits who cater to them. To them, other races disturb the peace, you see.”

They dislike Bilbo purely because he appeared like an outsider to most, not acting like a proper hobbit at times. Even Bilbo didn’t know why he couldn’t just be cheerful, energetic and socially-adept like a normal hobbit. He ceased trying to figure out why a long time ago.

Bofur blinked as he processed the remark before shooting Bilbo a worried look. “Ye won’t get into trouble with yer neighbors for letting us stay, won’t ye?”

Again, the hobbit shrugged nonchalantly, walking towards his mailbox. “No more than I usually am,” he answered. It didn’t matter anyway. He certainly wasn’t going to come back.

The hobbit was facing away so he didn’t see the bewildered frown upon Bofur’s face.

He fished his letters from his satchel and placed the keys of Bag End inside the envelope to be sent to Drogo. He put all of them inside the mailbox, raising the red flag to signal the postman that he had some mail needed to be sent.

“What was that then?” Kili asked as Bilbo and Bofur approached the group.

“Someone needs to take care of Bag End should I die.” Bilbo replied, seeing no harm in letting the young dwarf know. It was normal to have a last will prepared, right? Especially on such a risky quest as this . . .

“No need to be pessimistic, Master Baggins!” Gloin exclaimed with a hearty laugh.

“Time’s awasting.” Thorin’s loud gruff voice broke though all conversation. ”If you have taken care of your businesses, Burglar, then we shall go.” Without even waiting for a response, the dwarf went ahead and marched away.

The others complied, all just a few steps behind their leader. The ensuing conversations were much more subdued than before. Bilbo walked in step with Fili and Kili, the only dwarrows he was truly comfortable with.

Mind listless still and lacking his brain-to-mouth filter, he asked the brothers. “Do you really think it wise for your uncle lead the way?”

Instead of laughing, however, the brothers frowned thoughtfully. They exchanged glances, communicating purely through their eyes.

“You know, you’re probably right, Bilbo,” Fili said. He lifted his head and called out, “Balin!”

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They walked through the Shire with Balin leading them towards Bree. Half-an-hour into their walk, a loud indignant shout of “Bilbo!” halted their steps.

Everyone turned to the source of the call except for the owner of the name. Even the nearby hobbits who were out smoking or tending to their gardens stopped and looked. Bilbo merely closed his eyes in pain as he recognized the shrill voice. After a gathering his courage and the little bit of patience he had, he turned to meet the gaze of a furious Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. The ladyhobbit stomped towards him with a narrowed gaze, stopping just a few feet away.

“Good morning, Lobelia,” Bilbo greeted, not even bothering to smile. It was too early in the morning to be dealing with this harpy. Actually, any other time was too early to be dealing with this irritating hobbit.

“Where do you think you’re going with those dwarves?” Lobelia rudely pointed at the Company with her flower-patterned umbrella. “You’re not out to do something that will dishonor the Baggins name, are you?”

“Of course not,” Bilbo said, knowing what would happen next was be inevitable. “I’m just going on an adventure. You see—“

Lobelia squawked like an enraged pigeon. “An adventure!” Her expression twisted into an ugly sneer. “Why you sniveling unworthy mongrel! Of all the disgrace!” Bilbo merely raised an unimpressed brow at the insults. Eru, Lobelia was really off her game today; she usually mentioned his parents first before escalating Bilbo’s list of grievances. “A Baggins! Going on an adventure! With a bunch of rowdy hairy dwarves! Who would have heard of such a thing? Bag End should have gone to us!” The ‘Bag End belongs to us’ argument again? Lobelia would insert it to any conversation, it seemed. “Not to such ungrateful dishonorable —“

“Miss Lobelia,” Gandalf cut off, face thunderous. Lobelia’s mouth shut with a click. “To think you grew up to be such an impolite lass who has nothing better to do than to hinder our very important quest!” The wizard all but shouted, stepping in front of Bilbo. “I have half a mind to turn you into a toad for your bigotry.”

Lobelia’s eyes widened, eyeing the staff in Gandalf’s hand. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, speechless for the first time Bilbo had known her. Meanwhile, Bilbo himself was looking up at Gandalf with awe and no little amount of gratitude. No one had ever defended him before; he always had to do it for himself.

With one last glare at the hobbit lass, Gandalf turned to the Company and said, “Come along. We must not delay any further lest my temper get the best of me.”

One by one, they started walking again, leaving a stunned Sackville-Baggins behind. Several hobbits were stifling laughter behind their hands. They never thought to see the day Lobelia would be so thoroughly humiliated.

“Don’t worry, cousin,” Bilbo nodded at the woman. “I left something for you should I perish in this adventure of mine.” More like  _when_  he perished.

Lobelia’s eyes lit up and a malicious grin appeared on her face. “Then I hope you fall off a cliff, Bilbo,” she replied, only loud enough for Bilbo to hear. It seemed she was still afraid of the wizard.

“Thank you, Lobelia,” Bilbo smiled, meaning it. He would be thankful of anyone who wished him death.

With that, Bilbo hurried to join the Company, never once looking back. He caught up with Fili and Kili, who seemed to have heard their little conversation.

“What did you leave her?” Fili asked, throwing an acidic glance behind them. “Surely nothing of importance?”

“Nothing,” Bilbo replied, smiling. “A great big pile of nothing. I actually specified that in my will.”

The brothers guffawed. “Thank Mahal. We may yet make a prankster out of you, Bilbo!”

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They bought sixteen ponies and one horse in total at Bree. Bilbo was staring helplessly and warily at them all.

“Come along, Bilbo,” Gandalf said with a reassuring smile, mounting his enormous horse.

A dark-haired dwarf with a rather alarming  _axe_ imbedded in his skull slapped Bilbo’s back, muttering cheerfully in an unfamiliar guttural language. The dwarf himself climbed up a pony, gesturing at the one assigned to Bilbo. The hobbit blinked in puzzlement, not understanding a single word.

“Quite right, Bifur,” Dori replied, holding the reigns of his mare. “These horses are properly tamed, Master Baggins. No need to worry.”

“Thank you for the assurance, Mister Bifur, Mister Dori,” The hobbit stared anxiously at the pony in front of him. “But I’m sure I can keep up on foot, really. I’ve done my fair share of—Ah!” Bilbo ended with a yelp as both Fili and Kili lifted him up by his waistcoat and placed him on the saddle.

“There, Bilbo. Wasn’t so bad, was it?” The brothers grinned.

The hobbit gave them half-hearted glares before adjusting his position into a more comfortable one. However, no matter which way he turned, his legs were stretched uncomfortably wide and the saddle was awkwardly pressing against his backside. Bilbo sighed, resigning himself to the riding sores he would have by the end of the day.

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They rode in a slow relaxed pace that day, which Bilbo was extremely thankful for. They journeyed through picturesque green fields and hills, with trees twice as tall as Gandalf. Although the sun was beating harshly upon their backs, the cool breeze prevented them from getting uncomfortably hot. Bilbo stared dreamily at it all, never been this far out of the Shire.

Conversations started here and there but were practically sparse compared to the boisterousness of the dwarrows back in Bag End. Still, Bilbo steered clear of any interaction with them. He really wasn’t in the mood for it.

Sadly, some of the dwarrows didn’t seem to get the hint.

“Master Baggins,” Dori pulled up his pony next to Bilbo’s. “I couldn’t help but notice that you had such lovely doilies back in your home.”

Bilbo perked up, looking at Dori with surprise. “Y-Yes, they are beautiful, aren’t they?” Before he could help it, his lips curled into a warm smile. “They’re my mother’s actually.”

The dwarf smiled, nodding. “Of course, a woman with fine taste. What about the tea? I myself have a fondness towards chamomile. But the one that you have in your home have a particularly delightful tang.” Dori’s eyes lit up as he recalled the taste.

“Earl Gray,” Bilbo replied, mood lifting greatly. “My father was very picky about tea, you see. He wouldn’t settle for anything but the best. So we had—Achoo!” Bilbo ended with a chest-aching sneeze.

“Oh dear, you’re not coming down with a cold, are you?” Dori asked, a hint of worry in his question.

Bilbo sniffled, wiggling his nose and feeling like a thousand little needles was trying to get through his nostril. “No, no—Achoo! It’s the horse hair, I’m afraid.”

The hobbit rummaged through his trouser pocket. He blinked, a foreboding thought niggling at the back of his mind. He checked his coat pockets. “Oh no,” he muttered with outmost horror when his hands came up empty.

“What’s the matter, Master Hobbit?” Bofur, who was riding right in front of the hobbit, turned with an inquiring brow.

“I forgot my handkerchief.” No hobbit had gone anywhere without his handkerchief before! Bilbo groaned. In his excitement, he forgot to pack at least one. Allergies were common among hobbits; Bilbo, fortunately, had only a horse hair one. When he didn’t have a reaction to the ponies earlier, the hobbit thought he had outgrown the allergy. After all, it had been years since he last encountered a nag. But apparently, he was wrong.

It could be resolved rather quickly and easily. Now, only if he had some damn handkerchiefs.

Next thing Bilbo knew, there was a tearing sound in the air. Bofur chirped a “Use this,” before a brown cloth was flying towards Bilbo. The hobbit caught it before it could smack him in the face. The fabric was heavy, made of wool and cotton.

It was worn but surprisingly clean, despite its appearances. Although it was a poor substitute for his intricately sewn and soft handkerchiefs, Bilbo appreciated the thought nonetheless, especially since the dwarf appeared to have ripped it out of his own clothing. “Thank you, Mister Bofur.”

The hatted dwarf grinned and nodded before gazing back to the front. With a sort-of handkerchief, Bilbo happily went back to his conversation with Dori, allergies solved.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
> 
> So yeah, nothing much happens in this chappie except bonding times. Next up, arguments break out amongst the Company (‘cause, as LovesDragons said, they’re not all friends yet) and Bilbo learns that orcs are included in the adventure!
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcome! Help me improve my writing, guys!
> 
> Have an awesome day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	8. (Suicidal) Stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Thank you very much for the constructive criticisms! I tried to improve my grammar in this chapter but I don’t know how it turned out, really.
> 
> Thanks for all the comments, favorites, follows (WTF, a hundred!) and kudos! I’m not ashamed to say that those things have inspired me to keep writing!
> 
> Well, as RoseJustice pointed out, you may have noticed that my chapters are a bit on the short side. Actually, I’m a really slow writer. So I allot about 2 000 words per chapter so that I could pace myself. It’s psychological, you see. Whenever I’m feeling lazy, I look at the word count and say, “Just a few more words and you have another chapter!”
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER:** The Hobbit is not mine. I am not a 100+ year-old male genius. Nor am I an awesome director with initials PJ

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For hours, Bilbo and Dori talked about all sorts of things, ranging from the architecture of Bag End to the fabric of the hobbit’s best waistcoat. Throughout it all, Bilbo realized that Dori was indeed a hobbit in dwarf skin. They would talk about crochet, good books, comfy armchairs, flower language, and tasteful wines. When they reached the subject of cooking, Bombur joined the talks. The three of them gladly exchanged recipes, discussing the best way to cook lambs, chicken, and pork.

Inevitably, the topic of family came up.

“Aye! I have a lovely wife waiting for me in Ered Luin,” Bombur cheerfully informed them. “She is as beautiful as the diamonds she cuts.”

“All I have are my brothers,” Dori interjected. His expression was slowly setting into a disapproving frown. “Although one of them gives great shame to our family name.”

“Brothers? You have siblings other than Ori?” Bilbo asked curiously.

“Aye,” the incensed voice of a dwarf behind them interrupted, braided eyebrows raised condescendingly. “But he’s embarrassed of me just because I do whatever’s necessary to put food on the table.”

“Stealing things is in no way honorable, Nori!” Dori spat, pointing at the dwarf. “We had enough money without you doing something ghastly!”

“Oh?” The dwarf pulled his pony near Dori’s, eyes burning with barely contained fury. “And maybe that’s the reason why Ori needed to work in the library instead of studying? Because we had  _enough_  money?”

Dori’s nostrils flared. “If you had been working a proper livelihood, Ori wouldn’t have to do so! You are remiss in your duties as a brother.”

Bilbo watched with wide eyes as the brothers squabbled. Ori was behind them, sighing with exasperation at their antics. No one else was shocked, leading Bilbo so conclude that their arguments must have been a daily occurrence. Bilbo himself, however, was very alarmed at the sight. Dori and his brother looked like they were about to come to blows! They spat viciously at each other, faces twisted in anger and evident hurt.

“Sorry about them, Master Baggins,” Ori said apologetically, shaking his head. “They’re always like this.” Sadness colored the young dwarf’s tone as he stared at his bickering brothers.

Curiosity nagged the back of Bilbo’s mind. “If . . .  If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly are they arguing about?”

Ori shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, although everyone could see how dismayed he was by it all. “The usual. Nori’s a thief by trade, you see. He gets into all sorts of trouble. Dori, of course, wants nothing to do with it. And consequently, with Nori himself.” In a lowered voice, Ori muttered with a frown. “Even though Nori’s tactics often helped us when we’re in a pinch.”

A thief? There was already a thief in the Company? Then, why . . . Question crossed Bilbo’s mind and he planned to ask Nori about them at the next possible chance.

“A’right, knock’t off, ye two,” Dwalin growled, getting between the brothers. He threw each of them a warning glance. “I’ve had enough of yer jabbering. Resolve your own issues out of my hearing.” Side-eyeing Nori, Dwalin added in a patronizing tone, “If ye ask me, nothing a dastardly  _thief_  say could prove enough defense for his treacherous ways.”

Nori’s grip onto his reins tightened, knuckles turning white. “It’s a good thing no one asked you then,  _mênu shar_!” The dwarf practically shouted.

Dwalin’s face was equally thunderous. “Why you—“

“Kili! Fili!” Thorin barked, unknowingly (or perhaps knowingly?) cutting of the pair’s argument. “Scout ahead. Find a suitable camping ground.”

“Yes, Uncle!” they replied in unison, an ability that still amazed Bilbo because how in Eru’s name do they do that? Did they practice all possible scenarios in their free time?

The brothers both gave Bilbo a hearty clap on the back before forging ahead of the Company.

Bilbo looked up at the darkening sky, stars hesitantly twinkling amongst the clouds. The sun was setting behind them, casting a beautiful orange glow upon the surroundings. Bilbo listened to the peaceful sounds of birds chirping, leaves brushing against each other, and crickets playing their harmony.

It was a serene day with no evident signs of danger.

Bilbo sighed.  _Not today, then._

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They camped near the edge of a cliff. A long drop into a dark ravine padded two sides, and a humongous rock outcropping gave them shelter for the night.

“It’s perfect. Less flanks to defend from a night raid,” Kili had explained.

The hobbit thought it was also less ground to stand by if ever they were attacked. But Bilbo simply nodded, gingerly placing down the logs he was tasked to gather.

“Master Baggins.” The hobbit turned to the owner of the voice, who was the dwarf with an ear trumpet. The dwarf held out a bottle full of gray viscous liquid. “It’s your first time riding, isn’t it, lad?”

“Y-Yes, it is.” Bilbo accepted the jar, looking at it questioningly.

His whole body ached from the incessant rocking of the pony, unused as it was when it came to prolonged riding. Furthermore, the saddle had dug into his skin, chafing his thighs and leaving red rashes. He couldn’t fully bend his legs since, and gathering firewood had been harder than it was supposed to be.

“It’s a salve for sore muscles. Just apply it every night until you get used to riding,” the dwarf explained patiently. “Ask me for more if you run out.”

“Oh, t-thank you,” Bilbo replied, heartened. Before the hobbit could ask for his name—because really, Bilbo couldn’t remember all thirteen names in an instant, could he?—the dwarf had already strode away to tend to the other dwarrows.

Bilbo was just left staring at the salve with a small smile.

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Because of the bouts of lethargy he had been experiencing that day, Bilbo fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow of his sleeping bag. Although the ground was full of jutting rocks and the sleeping bag was not as comfortable as his bed back in Bag End, his fatigued body didn’t care at all. He dreamt of seeing the shafts of light reflected by the waters as he drowned in the seabed, dreamt of free falling into the deep dark abyss, dreamt pushing someone out of danger and pushing himself in it, and all sorts of wonderful scenarios. He was dreaming of ravenous wolves chomping down on his torso when frightening screeches awakened him.

“Wolves?” was the first thing he asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. The dancing flames casted eerie shadows on the area of their shelter. Some dwarrows were already asleep while the rest laid relaxed against the stones, smoking their pipes. His brain came awake and he realized, “Wolves don’t screech like eagles.”

“Orcs.”

Bilbo shifted around to find Fili and Kili sitting by the fire. Their expressions were grim as they stared into the distance.

“Orcs?” Bilbo went to join the brothers by the fire. He didn’t know orcs were on the table. Why didn’t anyone tell him?

“Throat-cutters.” Bilbo’s hand went to said throat. He read that cutting the throat meant drowning in your own blood. It is a most certain death, though a bit slow for Bilbo’s taste. “There’ll be dozens of them out there.” Fili made a careless flippant gesture at the forest. “The lowland’s crawling with them.”

“They strike in the wee small hours when everyone’s asleep,” Kili added, widening his eyes in mock horror. “Quick and quiet. No screams, just lots of blood.”

“Are they more vicious than goblins?” Bilbo couldn’t help but ask.

“Much  _much_  more,” Kili replied, nodding sagely.

Bilbo hummed noncommittally. Here he was, solely daydreaming about goblins when orcs were included too! Orcs were hardy creatures with endless amount of bloodlust in their veins. They are creatures of darkness that wrought chaos and death everywhere they go. For a moment, Bilbo selfishly hoped that they encounter some; to be killed by such creatures would be most glorious. He rubbed his palms when he noticed that they started trembling, unable to contain his anticipation for such event.

But no, he shouldn’t wish for it. He wanted death but he particularly didn’t want to take anyone with him. Perhaps if he left the Company to journey through the lowlands instead . . . No, no, no. He signed a contract!

Chuckles filtered through his hearing, and Bilbo blinked confusedly as he realized that Fili and Kili were laughing. At him, no less!

“We didn’t mean to frighten you, Bilbo,” Fili assured, mistaking the shaking of his limbs for that of fright.

Bilbo’s eyes widened. “Were you jesting about the orcs?” Ooh, these boys really got his hopes up.

“You think that’s funny?” Thorin’s angry tone cut through their discussion. All three of them looked up to see their leader striding over them, eyes cold as ice. “You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?”

Both Fili and Kili averted their eyes as if ashamed. “W-We didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No, you didn’t.” Thorin’s expression belied barely contained rage. “You know nothing of the world,” he all but spat before heading to the edge of their camp.

 _Probably to brood as the wind sails through his braids_ , Bilbo thought. The boys had their heads bowed, dejected in the wake of their uncle’s reprimand. The hobbit was about to comfort them but Balin beat him to it.

“Don’t mind him, laddie.” The elder dwarf moved closer to join their little circle around the fire. “Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs.” Balin gave the said dwarf a sympathetic look. “After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, King Thror, Thorin’s grandfather, tried to reclaim the ancient kingdom of Moria.”

Balin weaved a tale of catastrophe, war, and bloodbaths. He narrated the cons of monsters and the bravery of heroes – one hero in particular, Bilbo learned. Thorin, when he saw his grandfather decapitated by an orc called Azog the Defiler, rallied the dwarrow forces against the orcs’. Using only an oaken branch as a shield, he fought against the cruelty of orcs with his people, thus earning the epithet ‘Oakenshield’. Thorin had practically single-handedly won them the battle of Azanulbizar.

Bilbo was dumbstruck with wonderment as he listened. He belatedly realized that all the dwarrows were awake, drawn in by the Balin’s tale.

“And I thought to myself then, there is one I could follow,” Balin’s eyes glimmered in the firelight as he sent Thorin a look of outmost pride. “There is one I could call king.”

All eyes were on Thorin, no small amount of respect and awe evident on their faces. Bilbo himself couldn’t help but admire and envy the courage of the dwarf. Losing so much—his home, his grandfather, his father—yet still having the will to go on, the determination to reclaim his homeland . . . Bilbo could only dream he was that brave. As it was, he was willing to take the coward’s way if it meant ending this long arduous existence.

The dwarven leader turned around, a majestic figure among peasants, and gave them a nod of acknowledgement. And  _whoa, would you look at the timing of that hair-ruffling wind,_  went through Bilbo’s mind as well.

The dwarrows didn’t know it yet but that was when their loyalty to one Thorin Oakenshield was cemented.

“And the pale orc?” Bilbo inquired to Balin, curious to the fate of such malevolent creature. Surely an amputated arm did not imply assured death? “What happened to him?”

“He slunk back to the hole whence he came,” Thorin answered, pacing back again into camp. Bilbo wished he would stay in one place. “That filth died of his wounds long ago.”

Bilbo frowned. Judging by Thorin’s wording, they didn’t actually find a body. So what was to say the orc was truly dead? Why, Bilbo knew a hobbit once who apparently committed suicide; it was the first suicide in the Shire in over a century. A body was found, a funeral was held and yet, two years later, behold! He just came walking in the Shire like nothing happened. The hobbit had apparently faked his death for some reason or another. That was why Bilbo preferred not to jump off a tall structure like that hobbit; other hobbits might think his death was just another fraud.

But the battle of Moria had been over a hundred years now, hadn’t it? Surely Azog would show himself to Thorin in the past years, for revenge and some other troublesome nonsense, if the orc was still alive?

In the end, Bilbo merely concluded that it didn’t really matter. He only had a few more days left to live after all.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
> 
> OMG, why am I always picking on Thorin? Seriously though, watch some of his ‘majestic’ scenes and it’s so funny without background music.
> 
> mênu shar = you baldy
> 
>  **P.S.** What? What do you mean Sherlock reference? *sweats profusely* There’s no such thing here . . .
> 
>  **Next up:** Bilbo receives more of dwarf kindness. Thorin shows his good sense by camping near a rundown shack. We all know where this is going . . .
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcome! Help me improve my writing, guys!
> 
> Have an awesome day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	9. (Suicidal) Attempt: Trolls I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** OMG, I love hearing your insights about Bilbo’s character. I still am flimsy about his characterization at times and your comments had helped solidified his character in my mind! I’ll try to express him in the best of my abilities!
> 
> Thanks for all the comments, favorites, follows, and (over 200!) kudos! I’m not ashamed to say that those things have inspired me to keep writing!
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER:** Bilbo Baggins is mine! *gets trampled by a million fangirls* Okay, fine, he’s ours! But The Hobbit is solely Tolkien’s and the movies are . . . many someone’s.

 

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‘Those few days to live’ unfortunately, extended to a whole week.

The Company encountered nothing remotely dangerous; well, unless Bilbo counted those poisonous berries Kili decided to pick out for the Company to eat. It was most fortunate for the dwarrows that Oin, the healer who had given Bilbo the salve for his sore muscles, had swiftly identified the fruit and thrown it away.

And the only other dangerous thing was, of course, the rain that pelted down on them on those days.

The torrent drenched the entire Company and reduced them into a wet miserable bunch. Their supplies were thankfully placed in waterproof bags and were the least affected. The dwarrows themselves wore cloaks with hood that saved them from most of the rain and cold. Unfortunately, Bilbo had no such thing.

By the seventh day of raining he was a shivering mess, clothes sticking to him like a second skin. His real skin, meanwhile, felt like it would never be warm again. He had long since given up trying to stop the chattering of his teeth, which rocked his head and gave him terrible headaches. He might die of pneumonia at this rate. It wasn’t exactly what he had in mind when he joined this adventure but Bilbo supposed it would have to do. How long ‘till the phlegm congested in his lungs, rendering him unable to breath? He once skimmed through a tome of sickness and its symptoms but he couldn’t remember much.

However, he still had not the chance to talk to Nori. The constant rain had made everyone, especially that particular dwarf, ill-humored and short-tempered. Whenever Dori and Dwalin came less than five feet of Nori, the tension in the Company would be so thick Bilbo could cut it with a bread knife. The hobbit felt like Nori wouldn’t be amused at Bilbo’s poor attempts at a conversation at this point.

“Forgot to bring a cloak, did you, lad?” Gloin pulled his pony beside Bilbo’s, and the hobbit could see the pity present in his gaze.

Bilbo hunched into himself, trying to steal warmth from his own body and to temper down his shivers. “I-I don’t o-own a w-w-waterproof one. Hob-bbits don’t t-travel far o-out of their h-h-homes, and w-we use um-umbrellas for occasions l-l-like this,” Not that Bilbo brought one of those either.

Gloin chuckled. “You remind me of my boy. Never really thinking things through before doing them. Always gave my wife grief, that one.” Bilbo refused to pout at being compared to a  _child_. He had thought this adventure through! Less preparation just meant a quicker death so Bilbo didn’t bring much. “Here,” Gloin unclasped his own leather cloak, removed it from his shoulders, and held it out to Bilbo.

The hobbit’s eyes widened. He shook his head. “I c-couldn’t p-possibly—“

“Take it, lad,” the dwarf insisted, holding it closer to Bilbo. “Dwarrows are sturdy creatures. A little rain won’t hurt us,” Gloin said, puffing with pride. “I would have given it to you sooner but I thought you were just being stubborn! It just occurred to me that you might have forgotten to bring one.”

Giving in, Bilbo grappled with the cloak with quaking hands. He was dreadfully cold. He couldn’t even feel his fingers anymore. “T-Thank you, M-Mister Gloin.” It seemed he was saying that a lot to the dwarrows. They are a thoughtful bunch indeed. Bilbo didn’t know why the other hobbits believed them to be rude or brash. “You are most kind.”

Gloin clapped him on the back, laughing. “Think nothing of it, Master Baggins. And I have just lent you my cloak. I think you can call me by my first name.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but smile. “Then I g-give you m-mine too,” he replied with a small bow. He laid Gloin’s coat around his shoulders and placed the hood up his head. Instantly, warmth seeped to his skin like a gentle balm to wounds. His shivers diminished, becoming less chest-wracking.

Perhaps he wouldn’t die of pneumonia after all.

“Master Gandalf!” Dori called out, snappish. “Can’t you do something about this deluge?”

“It is raining, Mister Dori, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done,” the wizard replied with a hint of annoyance.

The more Bilbo listened to Gandalf, the words seemed less like wise cryptic statements and more like stating the obvious.

Gandalf continued, “If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another wizard.”

Dori let out a longsuffering groan. Bilbo perked up, and being the curious hobbit he was, he couldn’t help but say, “I-I didn’t know th-there were other wizards.”

“There are five of us.” Gandalf decided to indulge him. “The greatest of our order is Saruman the White. Then, there are two Blue wizards . . .”

The hobbit nodded, leaning forward and listening closely. He had heard Saruman before; the White wizard was in a lot of books.

“ . . . Do you know I’ve quite forgotten their names,” Gandalf said before chuckling to himself, proving that being a wizard did not exempt one from going senile.

“And the fifth?” Bilbo asked, deciding not to be disappointed at the lack of information.

He blinked the droplets of rain out from his eyelashes. When he opened his eyes, he met Thorin’s blue gaze. He startled, wondering what he did wrong this time in the eyes of their esteemed leader. However, when Bilbo blinked again, he found the dwarf was talking to Dwalin. He must have imagined it.

“Well, that would be Radagast the Brown.” And Gandalf proceeded to describe an eccentric wizard like himself who preferred the company of animals to anyone else.

The Brown wizard guarded the forests of the east, probably living all alone in those vast lands with only the chirrups of bugs and squeaks of squirrels for company.

Bilbo hummed and nodded at the right times. All wizards had their own unique eccentricities, it seemed. For the sake of the dwarrows, he hoped Gandalf’s were to their advantage.

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“We’ll camp here for the night,” Thorin said to the Company, stopping in front of a dilapidated shack.

Bilbo narrowed his eyes at structure as Thorin ordered Fili and Kili to look after ponies. Gandalf himself was walking inside, a thoughtful frown upon his face. As the hobbit dismounted, he heard Gandalf muttered something about a farmer and his family.

“Oin, Gloin, get a fire going,” Thorin ordered.

“Aye,” Oin replied.

“I think it would be wiser to move on,” Gandalf said in a much louder voice, turning to Thorin. “We could make for the Hidden Valley.”

Bilbo rubbed the snout of a pony he affectionately named Myrtle. The mare had been the most tamed of them all from what the hobbit observed. Myrtle had barely acted out at all, even if Bilbo was the worst rider yet. Because of her, Bilbo had less bruises than a first rider should have. The hobbit was lucky Myrtle was assigned to him. He wondered who he should thank for this . . .

Bilbo looked upon hearing the heated voices of Thorin and Gandalf. Half the Company was observing the altercation, curious and cautious of what was happening. After a few more spitted words, the wizard stormed off, anger clear on his expression.

“Everything alright?” Bilbo asked, blinking in confusion. “Are we going to camp elsewhere?” Gandalf had mentioned something about a hidden valley, hadn’t he?

“I’m afraid not, Bilbo,” the wizard replied gruffly. “I seek the company of the only one around here who’s got any sense.”

They all signed up to journey to a mountain that housed a dragon. Their leader hoped to defeat the beast with just fourteen members (excluding Bilbo because even Thorin knew better). And although their goal was noble, it was still a suicidal mission. So Bilbo had to ask, “And who’s that?”

Aptly, the wizard answered, “Myself! I’ve had enough of dwarves for one day.” With that, Gandalf stomped out of camp.

They all stared stunned at the wizard disappearing in the distance.

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Night had fallen and still, Gandalf did not return.

The smell of stew sizzled in the air as Bombur distributed the food. Each dwarrow clamored for their portion, hunger making them forget propriety. Bilbo, on one of his moods, hadn’t really got much of an appetite. Although he might want to try eating even just a bit; dying of starvation was one of the boring deaths he hoped to avoid.

“Shouldn’t we go look for him?” Bilbo inquired, worried. Gandalf might be a wizard but he wasn’t invincible, was he? He could be in trouble . . .

“Who?” Bofur returned, pouring stew in two bowls.

“Gandalf.”

Bofur snorted. “He’s a wizard. He does as he chooses.” And before Bilbo could say anything in reply, Bofur handed him the two steaming bowls. “Here, do us a favor. Take this to the lads.”

“Oh right.” How could Bilbo have forgotten about them? They were growing boys; they needed all the nourishment they can get.

They tied the ponies a couple of meters outside camp so as not to smell any pony smell in their sleep. Bilbo headed that way, hearing Bofur reprimanding Bombur for eating more than his share as he left. The odor hit him before he saw the first nag. He stayed at least five feet away from each of them; he did not want to trigger another troublesome allergy attack. He found Fili and Kili in the middle of the field, standing unmoving and silent.

“Here you go, Fili, Kili.” He held out the two bowls for them to take. The brothers didn’t tear their gazes to whatever it was they were looking at, faces holding an expression of wide-eyed shock. “What’s the matter?” Bilbo asked, following their gazes. They were just looking at the ponies grazing the field.

“We’re supposed to be looking after the ponies.” Kili said before gulping audibly.

“You don’t say.” Bilbo couldn’t help but reply in amusement.

“Only we’ve encountered a . . . slight problem.” Fili followed, giving Bilbo a nervous glance.

“We had sixteen.”

Bilbo’s brows rose with surprise, realizing where this was going.

“Now, there’s . . . fourteen.”

“Oh dear,” was all Bilbo could say.

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The three of them investigated the edges of the field.

“Daisy and Bungo are missing,” Kili reported, trying to hide the concern in his voice.

Bilbo’s eyes widened as he realized he was staring at an uprooted tree. A  _humongous_  uprooted tree, that was. “Shouldn’t we tell Master Oakenshield?” After all, a leader always had to know what’s happening, right? Bilbo was not really sure how this whole Company thing worked . . .

“Uh . . .” Fili and Kili exchanged panicked looks, which went unnoticed by the hobbit. Bilbo was still observing the roots of the tree, which appeared to be dewy with clumps of dirt. Based on the moisture on the soil and rigidity of the roots, the tree was uprooted quite recently. “No. Let’s not worry him.”

Bilbo gave the boys an astute look. “You just don’t want to get in trouble with your uncle, do you?” Bilbo had been around too many fauntlings not to know that kind of behavior. “Don’t worry, I’m sure—“

“No, it’s not that,” Kili cut off.

“It’s just, well.” Fili cleared his throat. “As our official burglar, we thought you might like to look into it.”

Bilbo sighed in exasperation. These boys, really . . . “Look, something big uprooted this tree.” The hobbit gestured with a hand still holding a bowl. He blinked as he realized this, and promptly deposited the food onto Fili’s hands. The dwarf took it in surprise. “It’s something very big and possibly quite . . . dangerous.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened. Oh, Eru, maybe hunger had really slowed down his thinking. Or maybe the days of peacefulness had lulled him into a sense of security. His eyes gleamed as he realized that whatever took the ponies was  _most probably_  dangerous. Life-threatening, even.

Finally, an opportunity had presented itself.

Now, only if Bilbo knew where to find that danger . . . As if on cue, Fili pointed out, “Hey, there’s a light.” The dwarf placed down the bowls of stew on a log. “Over there.”

Both Fili and Kili shared a look before bolting off to the source of the light. Bilbo eagerly made to follow. After a few steps, the hobbit frowned, tilting his head. He ran back, grabbed the two bowls of stew, and dashed to catch up to the boys.

No growing boys should miss their meal after all.

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“Trolls,” Bilbo breathed out, staring in amazement at the beasts’ camp. There were two trolls, to be exact. No, wait, there was third, Bilbo amended, as another troll entered the camp with . . . “He’s got Myrtle and Minty!” Bilbo couldn’t help but cry out. Oh dear, they couldn’t afford to lose any more ponies. “I think they’re going to eat them. We must do something!”

The boys turned to him. “Yes, you should,” Kili said, placing a hand on his back.

The idea stuck to Bilbo’s mind. Kili said something more but Bilbo was listening no longer. That was right, it would be the best course of action for all parties involved. “Alright, I’ll do it.” His heart started beating quicker in excitement and he stifled his smile just in time.

Kili and Fili paused, staring at him warily. “You will?” They expected the hobbit to show no little amount of reluctance.

Bilbo nodded vigorously. He handed them the stews, which they accepted with a bit of hesitation. “You both will stay here and eat your stew. You will tell no one, alright?” Bilbo doubted thirteen dwarrows could defeat three humongous trolls. Well, not without fatalities, that was. “I’ll try to get the ponies free the best I can. But if I fail,” Here, Bilbo tried to emphasize his point because he would surely fail. “Remember that no pony is worth your lives. You go back to camp and tell your uncle to get as far away from here as possible. Do you understand?” The hobbit loathed to see the boys in danger.

The brothers nodded with wide eyes, having already started on their stew. Bilbo sighed in relief. “Good, good.”

Fili swallowed so he could speak. “If you run into trouble, hoot twice like a barn owl and once like brown owl.”

Bilbo didn’t bother to remember the advice because he was pretty sure he wouldn’t use it. Instead, he gave one last smile to the boys, silently thanking them for tolerating his inept social skills. He survived longer than he expected but that didn’t matter in the long run.

He walked through the bushes, enthusiastically approaching the glorious doom he was waiting for.

“Be careful, Bilbo,” he heard Kili call out.

Bilbo certainly would not heed it.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
> 
> Cliffhanger time! I might not be able to update for a while though. Exams are coming up and I may not have the time. But I am a master procrastinator so we’ll see.
> 
>  **Next up:** Bilbo tries to get killed by trolls. Keyword being ‘tries’ . . . The dwarrows are not helping his purpose, by the way.
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcome! Help me improve my writing, guys!
> 
> Have an awesome day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	10. (Suicidal) Attempt: Trolls II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** This is officially the longest story I’ve done. It’s about 23K words and it’s the longest . . . That says something about how jumpy my muse is.
> 
> In this chapter, we’ll see other POVs other than Bilbo’s. I hope I do them justification!
> 
> Thanks for all the comments, favorites, follows, and (almost 300!) kudos! I’m not ashamed to say that those things have inspired me to keep writing!
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER:** Bilbo Baggins is mine! *gets trampled by a million fangirls* Okay, fine, he’s ours! But The Hobbit is solely Tolkien’s and the movies are . . . many someone’s.

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“Hey, Kee. You know I trust Bilbo but . . .”

“I don’t really think this is a good idea.”

“Aye. That . . .”

“. . .”

“. . .”

“. . .”

“We should have gotten Uncle.”

“Yes, we should have, Fee.”

“So . . . you get the others and I stay here to watch over Bilbo?”

“No way, Fee. You’re the older one here.  _You_  tell Uncle what’s going on.”

“. . .”

“. . .”

“. . . I really wish I’m not the older brother sometimes.”

“Only when you have to take responsibility for the consequences. You always like being the older one when you have to order me around.”

“You are a brat. Of course you need to be ordered around.”

“Yes, yes. Now, are you going to inform Uncle or are we both going to just sit here and watch as Bilbo gets trampled by trolls?”

“ . . . Fine.”

“Also, tell Bombur that the stew was delicious!”

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From a distance, trolls were such ugly big creatures with unproportioned bumps on their faces and in their bodies. Up close, they were much worse because now, their acrid smell permeated the air. Bilbo wrinkled his nose, wishing he could have brought the makeshift hanky Bofur gave him.

“Mutton yesterday, mutton today. And blimey, if it don’t look like mutton again tomorrow,” one troll whined.

“Quit yer griping,” the one holding the ponies growled. “These ain’t sheep. These is fresh nags!”

“Oh I don’t like horse. I never have. Not enough fat on them.”

From the hidden shadows of the camp, Bilbo stared at the large beasts. Their feet were twice the size of a full hobbit, and would surely easily squash one. There would blood and gore everywhere but this was a forest so the soil would just absorb the remains. Bilbo knew that being stepped on by those overweight troll would be an instantaneous end. Oh, less pain and more of blissful darkness.

One of the trolls sneezed on the pot they were cooking over a hearty fire.

“Well, that’s lovely, that is. A floater,” the apparent cook of the group said, no hint of sarcasm in his tone.

Bilbo winced in disgust. Well, what he read about trolls was true; they liked to eat things that are as vile and as rotten as their teeth.

 _Their teeth._  What about being eaten then? Bilbo’s body could easily be torn in half between those strong blunt teeth. It would no doubt be more painful than being stomped on but it was an exciting death indeed. He would be swiftly lifted off his feet, and would be in the air for several wonderful seconds. Then, those chompers would dig into his skin and then . . . nothing.

Bilbo tried to calm his labored breathing, heartbeat rabbiting in his chest. He couldn’t stop the hysterical giggle that escaped his throat. He couldn’t believe it; after several years of deliberating how to end his life, here it was. A perfect opportunity for a death quite unlike any other. His Took side was practically jumping in glee, urging him to move his feet and present himself to his doom. Not another breath would be taken, not another person to burden . . .

But the Baggins in him reared itself into the forefront of his mind. “You made a promise, Bilbo, you daft fool,” he murmured to himself. He shook himself out of his suicidal contemplations. He had promised Fili and Kili that he would try his best to get the ponies. A Baggins always honored his word.

Bilbo sighed in resignation. An exhilarating death by the trolls’ hands would have to wait.

He edged around the trolls’ camp, making sure to stay hidden in the shadows. After a few minutes of skulking, he reached the stable where the horses were kept prisoner. Fortunately, all three trolls had their backs turned to the said stable. Unfortunately, the ropes keeping the structure enclosed was too thick and heavy for Bilbo to untie. He attempted it a few times, each try ending in a frustrated groan.

The hobbit looked around for something to cut the rope with. The best thing he could find, of course, was the small sword strapped around the closest troll’s loincloth. Bilbo shrugged and walked closer, not bothering to quiet his steps.

When a big meaty hand grabbed his whole body and lifted him up, he wasn’t truly surprised. He was, however, shocked to be used as a handkerchief. The next thing Bilbo knew, he was covered in troll snot. He blinked up at the wrinkly face of a troll.

The troll holding him screamed. Bilbo would have laughed at the shrillness of it had he not been utterly dismayed. His best waistcoat was ruined! By troll snot, no less. He looked glumly at the sticky sleeve. Then, he realized he was covered in the disgusting stuff and promptly breathed through his mouth. Goodness, these trolls were utterly revolting.

“Blimey!” the troll exclaimed. “Bert, Bert!” He called to his companions, getting hysterical by the minute. Bilbo found himself the subject of three curious glances. “Look what’s come out of me hooter!” By Yavanna! These trolls really were slow and stupid. A hobbit, coming out of his nose! “It’s got arms and legs and everything.”

“What is it?” the cook, Bert, asked, looking at Bilbo with a contemplative gaze.

“Good evening,” The hobbit greeted with a nod, thinking he might as well be polite to his killers and advocates of his cause.

“It speaks!” one called William said, looking to his companions for confirmation. “What are ye then? An oversized squirrel?”

“A squirrel!” Bilbo squeaked, offended in behalf of all the hobbits in the Shire. “Why, I am a hobbit, good sirs!”

“A hobbit?” the troll holding him—Tom, was it?—leaned in as if to get a better look. Bilbo’s eyes widened with delight as those perilous teeth came near him. “Never heard’em before.”

“Can we cook him?” Bert asked, ladle raised.

So, he was to die by stew then. “Of course you can!” Bilbo exclaimed, gesturing widely.

The three trolls startled at his enthusiasm. “We can?”

“Yes, of course.” Bilbo nodded repeatedly. “However, you have to do it right to get the best absolute flavor.” Bilbo, after all, had no plan to die a painful and slow death like being boiled in soup. “First, you must take off my head.”

“We can’t eat your head?” Bert narrowed his gaze at him, skeptical.

“Oh, you can,” Bilbo amended, quickly trying to think of something. “But . . . But cutting off the head will make all the  . . . b-bad blood flow out of the body, you see.”

“But I like the flavor of blood,” William griped.

“No, no, no. But not this blood. Bad blood, you see, um, are poisonous. Yes, they are! Very toxic.”

The trolls’ eyes widened. “Yer poisonous!”

Bilbo gaped, realizing his mistake. “Wha—No, I meant—“ Too late to correct his mistake, it seemed. He flew into the air as Tom threw him like a rag.

The hobbit landed hard on his stomach, breath stolen from him by the impact. He gasped and spluttered onto the wet soil. His chest felt like it was on fire and getting up apparead to be beyond his capability at the moment.

“A poisonous creature! And we almost ate’t,” one of the trolls said.

“What should we do with it?”

“Kill it, I say. Stomp on it, Tom.”

Well, Bilbo might not have been eaten but he’ll happily settle for a being squashed. He turned on his back and closed his eyes, waiting. Just a few more minutes . . .

“What? Why me?”

“Yer the one that sneezed it out!”

“I dun want to do it! It says it was poisoned, innit?”

“Just when we it eat, Tom.”

“But what if it melts my foot if I step on it?”

Bilbo sighed as the trolls continued to argue. Of course, his death wouldn’t be that easy. Of course, only he would find the only trolls in Middle Earth who refused to kill him. He opened his eyes as he sat up, gritting his teeth against the pain in his chest. “Excuse me!” The mere call made his lungs constrict and he coughed for a few moments.

At least, he got the trolls’ attention. “As I’ve said, I’m not really poisonous when cooked right. I was about to  _tell_  you, actually, that hobbits are the tastiest morsel in the whole of Middle Earth.”

“Really?” Bert asked with a malicious gleam in his eyes. He swiftly grabbing Bilbo in a suffocating grip. Oh, Bilbo hadn’t thought of being squeezed to death. It sounded marvelous. “Are there any more of you little fellas hiding where you shouldn’t? You wouldn’t make more than a mouthful.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened in panic. He hoped Fili and Kili had already gone to inform their uncle, and was as far away from here as possible. He struggled to say, “Uh—oh no. I’m a-afraid not.”

As if on cue, Kili made his entrance. “Drop him!” He commanded, wielding a large sword.

“You what?” William asked, the slowness of his mind evident in his features.

“Kili, you mad dwarf!” Bilbo couldn’t help but shout in both frustration and dismay. “I told you to go!”

The young dwarf ignored him, opting instead to stare down  _three_  large trolls. Oh, dear, this foolish boy! Bilbo turned to Bert and said, “Oh, that, that dwarf doesn’t taste good. At all. Really, you shouldn’t—“

“I said . . .” Kili growled, cutting off Bilbo’s attempts to save his life. “Drop him.”

Bert released an animalistic snarl. And then, Bilbo was flying the second time that night as the troll threw him towards Kili. The hobbit and dwarf landed in a heap on the forest floor.

Chaos erupted as the rest of dwarrows came charging from the trees.

 _No, no, no_ , Bilbo chanted in his mind. No one else was supposed to get involved. The boys hadn’t listened to him! Kili pushed himself up, helping Bilbo up in the process.

“Get to safety, alright?” Kili clapped a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder before joining in the fray.

Dwarrows with their assortment of weapons slashed and stabbed the three trolls. However, the trolls’ skins were too thick and leathery; they barely drew blood. Bilbo’s heart skipped a beat as Fili almost got himself flattened by a troll foot, and as Ori’s head almost got ripped off by one of those meaty fingers. Everything was happening so fast that Bilbo almost couldn’t follow it.

 _I must do something!_  Bilbo felt utterly useless as he watched the dwarrows fight for their very lives. He had caused this so the least he could do was to be of use. When he heard the ponies neighed in distress at all the commotion, the hobbit knew what he had to do.

He carelessly charged into the battlefield, weaponless and tactless. And if he somehow got killed amidst the battle . . . well, no one could be blamed. A troll foot came excitingly close to his head. But Bifur swerve it away with quick swing of his mace.

The dwarf shouted something at Bilbo, pointing at the forest. Bilbo merely nodded, and proceeded to get deeper into the troll’s camp. He got nicked by the dwarrows a few times but the wounds were mere cuts and bruises, nothing fatal.

Bilbo disappointingly and safely reach the stables, relatively unscathed.

 _Oh well, at least I could be useful_. The hobbit had grabbed the small knife he had been previously eyeing. He sawed through the ropes of the enclosure. Within a minute, Bilbo was able to drag the fence open and let the ponies out.

Less than a minute after that, Bilbo found himself hovering in the air, arms and legs held by two of the trolls. He blinked in bewilderment, staring at the dwarrows below him. The dwarrows, in turn, stared up at him with horror.

“Bilbo!” Kili cried out in dismay, running towards said hobbit. He would have fought the trolls all by himself had Thorin not held him back with a “Don’t!” and a firm grip on his arm.

“Lay down your arms,” William, one of the trolls with a grip on the hobbit’s arm, ordered, glaring at the dwarrows. The dwarrows brandished their weapons against the three trolls, panic evident in their eyes. “Or we’ll rip his off.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened as he realized he was being used as a hostage. Why, these trolls were smarter than they appeared. Or, well, thinking about it, not exactly smart; they should have chosen a better hostage than Bilbo. He was the least useful among the Company; he wasn’t worth much as leverage.

Still, just in case the Company was noble enough to try and save their most incompetent member, Bilbo said calmly, “Don’t do what they say—“

“Quit yer yapping!” Bert shouted, shaking the hobbit in his grip.

A great  _crack_  resounded in the space of the troll’s camp. For a few seconds, Bilbo wondered at the source of the noise. Was it a firework? A rock cracking against another? Then, the pain manifested itself into his left shoulder and his questions were answered.

He screamed as fire climbed up the length of his left arm.  _Oh Eru, Yavanna, Aule, and all the Valar._  Black dots filled his vision and for a moment, he thought he was going to faint. But the moment was gone, and he managed to swim to consciousness just a few seconds later. Tears escaped the corners of his eyes and ran down his cheeks, tracing a glistening path on his dirtied face.

“Bilbo!” “Master Baggins!” The cries of the dwarrows were the first thing Bilbo registered.

“—squealing like a pig, he is.” The gleeful voice of the troll was the second.

“Now,” William smirked.

Bilbo let out a soft cry as his injured arm was pulled. His bones were grating against each other at a painful angle and he knew it was misaligned.

“Drop yer weapons.”

Bilbo’s head snapped to the dwarrows. He met Thorin’s undecipherable gaze with wide teary eyes. Unable to speak, the hobbit merely shook his head vigorously. If they stopped fighting, the trolls would capture them and have them for dinner. Either way, Bilbo would die in the end, which really was the result everyone would be glad about. There was no need for the other dwarrows to join him.

His and Thorin’s gaze held for a few tense moments.

Then, the dwarf gruffly embedded his big sword into the ground, a sure sign of surrender. The others hesitated but soon followed, throwing their armaments to the ground with a huff. Ori, rather petulantly, hurled his slingshot away.

“No, don’t . . .” Bilbo’s voice was hoarse and it hurt to speak.

But his pleading came unheeded as dwarrows disarmed themselves.

_Oh, confusticate these dwarrows!_

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
> 
>  **Next up:** Bilbo tries to kill two birds with one stone. Unfortunately, the dwarrows hinder his plan, as they always do.
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcome! Help me improve my writing, guys!
> 
> Have an awesome day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	11. (Suicidal) Attempt: Trolls III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING/S: Suicidal thoughts/tendencies, implied depression, crack-ish, depiction of injury, suicide attempt.
> 
> A/N: Oh, yes for people who didn’t know, this will be a Bagginshield! But it’s gonna be a SLOW BURN that you probably won’t realize most of the hints.
> 
> Okay, there is an active action towards suicide here (previous ones were passive) so, yeah. Just a heads-up.  
> Thanks for all the comments, favorites (WTF, a hundred!), follows, and kudos! Wow, they’re really wonderful and surprising ‘cause this story is definitely not one of my best writing. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Of course, I own The Ho--*the ghost of 100+-year-old genius linguist professor shows up* GAH! I don’t own The Hobbit! At all. Take it, Tolkien!

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Half of them was tied to a spit, slowly roasting over the campfire. The other half was stuffed into foul-smelling sacks that removed much of their mobility. Bilbo was unfortunately included in the latter.

Agony spiked up his arm whenever he so much as twitched; he didn’t even attempt to get out of his sack like the other dwarrows. He had to blink away not only tears of pain but also tears of frustration. It was his fault that the Company was caught. It was his actions that would kill all of them and cut the journey short for these noble dwarrows.

“It’s alright, laddie,” Balin, who was piled up right beside him, reassured. “Everything will be fine.”

It was hard to believe the dwarf when the trolls were loudly discussing the seasoning they would use on the dwarrows. But Bilbo said nothing in reply, only letting out an exasperated sigh.

The thought of giving up was sorely tempting him. After all, before the day ends, Bilbo would achieve a creative doom he had wanted for years. But this death was only supposed to be _his_! Not Fili’s, not Kili’s, not Ori’s—not all of the dwarrow’s. He must do something!

If they can’t defeat the beasts with brawn, then they have use their brains. There must be a clever way out of this . . . Where was that damn wizard when they needed him? _Probably off creating riddles to confound the whole mortal population_ , Bilbo thought with a hint of spite. Still, there must be something they could do!

As if on cue, William muttered to his companions, “Never mind the seasoning! We ain’t got all night.” The troll turned the spit to evenly cook the Company. “Dawn ain’t far away. Let’s get a move on.” A notion niggled at the back of Bilbo’s mind—the beginnings of a brilliant idea or a totally dumb one. “I don’t fancy being turned to stone.”

The hobbit glanced up at the night sky and saw not a star twinkling above. It’s always darkest before dawn, his mother used to say. _It’s pretty dark now . . ._

And just like that, a plan unfolded in Bilbo’s head.

Yes, he had read about the effects of sunlight on mountain trolls.

“Wait!” he exclaimed, getting the attention of everyone. Again, he swallowed the nerves that threatened to overwhelm him at so many eyes on him. _Stall,_ Bilbo said to himself, _you have to stall for the dwarrows._ “You’re making a terrible mistake!”

“You can’t reason with them,” Dori shouted from his position over the toasty fire. “They’re half-wits.”

“Half-wits?” Bofur followed, accent getting thicker with hysteria. “What does that makes us then?”

Bilbo stumbled to his feet, which was made difficult because he only had one functioning arm. Nevertheless, he successfully straightened up after a few tries and several stifled whimpers.

“Sit down, Bilbo!” one of the dwarrows hissed, though Bilbo couldn’t be sure who.

“I meant with the seasoning!” Bilbo forged on, determined to at least try.

Bert turned to him, a scowl on his face but his interests were clearly piqued. “What about the seasoning?”

“Well, h-have you smelt them?” the hobbit said with a nervous laugh. “You’re gonna need something stronger than sage before you plate this lot up.” Oh Eru, he really hoped this works.

Behind him, the dwarrows exclaimed profanities, calling the hobbit a traitor. Bilbo and the trolls ignored them. The hobbit hopped closer to the nearest beast, who was the cook, gritting his teeth when the movement jarred his shoulder.

“What do you know about cooking dwarf?” William asked, giving Bilbo a skeptical look.

“Shut up.” Bert hissed. He leaned closer to Bilbo. “Let the hobbit talk.”

The hobbit decided to start with a kernel of truth. “I-I know nothing about cooking dwarf. But—”

“See!” Tom piped up, pointing at him accusingly. “That one’s lying, it is—“

“But!” Bilbo interrupted, raising his voice. “But . . .” He tried to think of something to add. His eyes brightened as he realized he could still salvage this situation _and_ accomplish his goal. A brilliant idea crossed his mind, one he didn’t waste time implementing. “ _Remember_ ; I told you that hobbits are the tastiest morsel in the world.”

“Yeah, you did, didn’t you,” Bert nodded, contemplative.

Bilbo nodded back. “We are so tasty, in fact, that after you digest us, every food you eat would be the outmost delicacy!”

“Bilbo, no!” He heard Fili yelled, followed by a barrage of bellows from the other dwarrows.

“Burglar!” Thorin’s voice sounded above the din. “Stop this nonsense.”

“Shut up, you lot!” Tom growled.

“What? I’ve never heard of such a thing!” William exclaimed with disbelief.

“’Tis true!” Bilbo insisted. “Why, all the goblins, orcs, and wolves who had a bite of us would tell you the same!”

“You tellin’ us that we should eat you first?”

“Yes, yes,” Bilbo answered, innately glad that his plan seemed to be working. The sky was already lightening so it shouldn’t be long. “Now, recall what I told you about cooking hobbits.”

“We cut off your head and let the poison flow out,” Bert said, giving Bilbo a thoughtful look. After several contemplative seconds, he held out one hand to another troll while the other enclosed Bilbo in a firm grip. “Tom, get me my chopping knife.”

“Careful, please.” Bilbo whimpered as his injured arm was twisted.

“Laddie, what are ye doin’!?”

“Don’t do it, Bilbo!”

“Let him go, you stupid ugly beasts!”

Tom griped, “But he wouldn’t make even a mouthful.”

“You don’t have to eat much. Just a bite would do.” Bilbo reasoned, valiantly resisting the urge to smile. “One gets my head, one has my upper half, and another my lower half.”

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Unbeknownst to the trolls and one hobbit, the dwarrows’ eyes widened with horror and shock at the words. What madness had afflicted their burglar? He was trying to get eaten first for no discernible reason! Thorin narrowed his gaze at the hobbit. The burglar was no means fool nor was he suicidal (Tharkûn would have mentioned that, surely). _So what is he . . ._ It was then that the leader realized that the sky was no longer as dark as before; dawn was fast approaching.

The epiphany hit Thorin like rocks in a mine cave-in. _He’s stalling._ And risking his life in the process. Did the halfling not realize they were in this situation because the Company wanted to save his life?

“I want the head,” one of the beasts demanded, continuing his task of spinning the other members of the Company over the fire.

“Alright, alright,” the seeming cook of the trolls agreed recalcitrantly, laying Bilbo flat on his back as he twirled the knife in his hand.

Because the Company cannot risk losing their burglar, Thorin called out, “He’s lying!”

The clamors of the others silenced at his bellow. Bilbo looked at him with wide eyes filled with disbelief. (Also, Bilbo placed in a healthy amount of ‘are you an idiot?’ in his expression). The trolls turned to Thorin as one, pausing their activities.

“Whats’at?” one of the trolls asked, frowning.

“He’s lying, of course,” Thorin repeated calmly. Inside, the gears of his mind was working quickly to think of something to add to that. “Did you not know that . . . that halflings are infected?”

“You what?” the trolls asked in confusion.

“Aye.” Thorin gave a solemn nod. “That one has . . . “ _Something disgusting . . ._  His gaze happened to land on an earthworm burrowing the soil beside his head. “ . . . worms in his . . . tubes.”

“Eww!” The knife-holder immediately pulled back his hand from Bilbo as if burned.

“I do not!” Bilbo protested, sounding scandalized beyond belief. He shot Thorin a heated glare. “Hobbit are clean of parasites, I’ll have you know.”

“Yeah, Uncle, what are you saying?” Kili defended, looking up at Thorin. “Bilbo doesn’t have parasites!”

Thorin made a jerky movement to get his sister-son to catch up to the ruse; it would have been a kick to the head had the sack not impeded much of his movement. He saw Kili’s eyes widened in realization. The dwarrows around him comprehended the plan not a second after.

“Ah, yes. He’s got parasites as big as my arm!” Oin commented loudly, the lack of his ear trumpet rendering him unable to hear his own voice.

Kili followed, exclaiming vivaciously, “His are the biggest parasites! I’ve seen them moving around his stomach.”

“What? No!” Mahal help them, was the Burglar actually trying to get himself killed? There was no need to further endanger himself. “They’re lying!”

“He’s riddled,” Ori added, trying to be helpful. “Badly.”

“Told you he was poisonous, didn’t I?” one of trolls muttered. “You didn’t listen!”

“You did it, Uncle,” Kili whispered, relief palpable in his expression.

Thorin nodded, glad they didn’t have to trouble themselves by finding another burglar.

That’s what he told himself anyway.

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_Bebother these dwarrows!_

Bilbo appreciated them trying to save him. Wait, no, actually, he _understood_ that their nobility wouldn't allow them to let helpless creatures die on their watch. Still, Bilbo did not appreciate their 'help'.

To the trolls, he persisted, “I told you! I’m not poisonous!” And how did being poisonous connect to having worms in his tubes anyway? Troll mindset didn’t make any sense.

William glared at the dwarrows, a shrewd look in his eyes. “You think I don’t know what yer up to? These dwarves are taking us for fools!” The troll gestured at Bilbo. “Cut him up, Bert!”

Well, it seemed their scheme didn’t work after all. Bilbo almost let out a sigh of relief.

The dwarrows went back to shouting insults, pleads, and just a lot of gibberish exclamations as Bert took ahold of him again. Bilbo wondered why they cared so much. Surely, they could get a more competent burglar? Bilbo wasn’t exactly one of a kind. . .

But Bilbo pondered no more as the blade end was placed over the expanse of his throat. He lifted his head to give the troll better access; a clean and swift decapitation, after all, was one of the most painless way to go. _Finally_ , Bilbo sighed.

“Also, wait at least half-an-hour after eating me,” Bilbo added, just in case. He wanted to give the Company more time. “That way, I’ll be fully digested.” Bilbo looked up the sky, glad to find the sight to be a breathtaking mash of blue, pink, purple, and orange. Not a bad view, if that was the last thing he’ll ever see.

“Hmm, reasonable.” Bert acceded. “Now, hold still, little hobbit.”

Bilbo nodded solemnly. Bert raised the knife high in the air, one hand restraining Bilbo as if he was flopping fish. But Bilbo didn’t struggle one bit.

“No!” He heard Kili cried out, sounding near to tears.

“Bilbo!” Fili yelled from his place over the fire. “Stop, stop, you cowardly smelly trolls!”

The hobbit’s heart ached for the boys’ cries so he replied, “Everything will be alright, boys.” Well, the dwarrows would be alright, anyway.

And the knife came down with perilous certainty.

Of course, Gandalf decided to make a grand entrance. “Let dawn take you!” he boomed before a blinding light engulfed the whole camp.

The trolls screamed as the sunlight pierced their skin. They tried to cover their faces but it was no use; every part the sun touched instantly turned to stone. The knife tumbled out of Bert’s grip, spinning quickly and cutting air. Bilbo, for one optimistic moment, believed that the knife was going to land on him, stabbing right through. Unfortunately for him, it landed a few short inches away from his head.

“Yeah!”

“Great timing, Wizard!”

The dwarrows cheered loudly as the last troll completely turned to granite. Loud boisterous laughter filled the camp, the Company doing a little victory dance in their respective bindings. Why, Bilbo believed he even saw Thorin smiling with teeth out. The wizard climbed down from a large boulder—one which he cracked in half to let the sunlight filter through.

Bilbo merely stared in shock at the knife beside him, unable to believe he survived that ordeal.

“Great timing indeed,” Bilbo muttered, letting his head fall on the ground with a satisfying _thunk_.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
> 
> P.S. Tharkûn is Gandalf’s name in Khuzdul.
> 
> Alright, I’m reminding you guys again that suicide should NEVER be romanticized. Really, it’s nothing short of sad. (Fuck, I’m a bad person for making this crack). Anyway, steer clear if the descriptions are starting to affect you!
> 
> Next up: Bilbo gets his injuries treated. The Company shares their opinions about their burglar.
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcome! Help me improve my writing, guys!
> 
> Have an awesome day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	12. (Suicidal) Treatment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING/S: Suicidal thoughts/tendencies, implied depression, crack-ish, depiction of injury
> 
> A/N: Oh my god, a writer’s block is preventing me from writing as quickly as I want. I apologize for the later than usual update. Also, my brain keeps jumping to the ending I want for this story and ugh, I want to write BOTFA already! That’s where the half-serious part (and angst) is going to come in.
> 
> Meanwhile, enjoy this crack-ish chapters . . . Soon, you guys won’t have that anymore. *evil laughter*
> 
> Thanks for all the comments, favorites, follows, bookmarks and (over 400!!!) kudos! Thank you Balinor88 for sharing your insight and experience. I’m pretty sure all those who were left behind feel much the same.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Of course, I own The Ho--*the ghost of 100+-year-old genius linguist professor shows up* GAH! I don’t own The Hobbit! At all. Take it, Tolkien!

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“Bilbo!” Fili and Kili wailed the minute they got out of their bindings. They ran towards said hobbit, who was being helped up by Bofur, and promptly hugged the living daylights out of him.

“Ah!” Bilbo cried out as they pressed on his injured arm.

Immediately, the boys loosened their embrace into a less suffocating one. “We’re so sorry, Bilbo.”

“It’s alright,” Bilbo reassured, knowing they couldn’t have possibly known he was attempting kill himself. It wasn’t their fault circumstances had cursed Bilbo to live another day. Still, there could only be one other reason the young drwarrows were apologizing. “I don’t think my shoulder got any worse.”

Kili pulled back and Bilbo was perplexed to realize there were the beginnings of tears in his eyes. “Not just that! We’re sorry for forcing you to sneak into the troll’s camp.”

“Yeah, it was stupid and immature of us,” Fili agreed, eyes down on the ground.

“It was _very_ foolish of you.”

Three heads turned to the dwarven leader that was marching towards them. His face held the usual sour expression, added with a large pinch of barely contained anger.

“You nearly got the whole Company killed because of your thoughtlessness.” Thorin didn’t shout, per say, but for the power and heat in his voice, he might as well have yelled it to the Valars. “Irresponsible decisions will have fatal repercussions. You are to be the heirs of Durin’s line. You cannot afford to be careless.”

Kili and Fili shrunk into themselves, looking severely ashamed in the wake of their uncle’s reprimand.

Bilbo stepped forward, frowning. “The boys didn’t force me to do anything. I went in there willingly.” He looked at the boys as he said the latter.

It was true; Kili may have suggested the idea but Bilbo was the one who eagerly strode into the troll’s camp. He didn’t want to get the brothers in trouble for something he planned by himself. And maybe, he was a _little_ bit angry at the dwarven leader for accusing of having worms in his tubes and wanted to vent it out.

“And you,” And there, the fiery glare turned to him instantly. Bilbo defiantly stared back.  He’s had worse glares from his neighbors. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Bilbo fought down the panic building in his chest. The dwarf couldn’t possibly know anything! “Or are you just as foolish as my sister-sons?” Thorin’s eyes flitted to the knife Bert had almost cut Bilbo with. “Did you not catch on to our plan? Why were you still convincing those beasts to eat you?”  The dwarf leveled him with a suspicious glance.

“I . . . uh. . . I was merely . . .” Bilbo struggled to think of a reply that didn’t involve ‘Why yes, I was trying to get myself eaten’. His mind was coming up short of other excuses.

Thankfully, that was the moment Oin decided to interrupt.

The healer pushed past the dwarven leader. “You can berate him later, Thorin.” To Bilbo, he said, “Let me see your shoulder, lad.”

The leader let out an almost huff before storming away. Kili and Fili visibly relaxed as their uncle left.

Bilbo let out a relieved sigh as well, glad that he didn’t get found out. He turned to Oin, who was staring expectantly at him. Bilbo blinked stupidly back.

“Take off your tunic, Master Baggins,” Oin said slowly and loudly (where was his ear trumpet anyway?), as if talking to a child.

“Here?” Bilbo glanced around. Due to Oin’s ear-ringing announcement, most of the Company were eyeing their little group with varying degrees of curiosity and amusement. “Right now?” The dwarf couldn’t possibly expect him to strip with an audience!

“Speak up, laddie,” The healer gestured at his own ear. “And I need to check the damage quickly lest it heals wrong.” His hands, without preamble or warning, came to remove the hobbit’s red velvet overcoat.

Bilbo flushed, reddening up to the tips of his pointy ears. “W-Wait just one moment, Master Oin,” he stuttered out, backing away from said dwarf. Unfortunately, the Durin boys got ahold of him from behind and he didn’t get very far. “I can’t possibly—There are—C-Can we not do this somewhere private?”

“Come now, Bilbo,” Kili pulled one side of his overcoat down. The hobbit yelped, pulling it back up. “We’re all men here! It’s nothing we haven’t seen.”

“I-It’s inappropriate!” Bilbo couldn’t help but squeak out, embarrassed beyond belief. “To strip down in public, that is. It isn’t done in the Shire!” And really, it shouldn’t be done anywhere else if hobbits were to be asked.

Something mischievous gleamed in Fili’s and Kili’s eyes. Bilbo shot them a wary glance, trying to subtly remove their holds on him.

A few seconds later, the hobbit’s caution was well-deserved because the boys _lunged_ at him. A squeal escaped unbidden from his lips as the young dwarrows swiftly displaced Bilbo’s overcoat with deft fingers.

“No, no, no, wait. Stop!” The hobbit struggled even though he knew it was futile; he only had one functioning arm to push away two spirited boys after all.

“Careful on the shoulder, lads!” one of the dwarrows shouted.

Surprisingly, even with his all his struggling, Fili and Kili managed to heed it. The injured limb was barely agitated as they buttoned down his waistcoat and tunic. Bilbo’s face was probably as red as a tomato by now. The chuckles of the Company were not helping in the slightest; they’re probably getting an eyeful of hobbit anatomy for the first time. To say that Bilbo was mortified would be the understatement of the millennia.

Oh, and there went his sticky tunic. A small part of Bilbo was glad to be rid of troll stench. But a large part just wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

“There you go, Master Baggins,” Oin nodded after Bilbo was undressed from waist up. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

 _Oh, it was as humiliating as I thought it would be_ , was what Bilbo would have said but held his tongue.

Fili and Kili both inhaled sharply as the injury was revealed while Oin merely hummed thoughtfully. Bilbo turned to look for himself. With wide eyes, he took in the red swelling of his shoulder. The muscle was bulging sickeningly, a yellowish hint to the bruises around disgustingly visible. Bilbo blanched as he realized that a _bone_ was causing the protrusion.

“By Yavanna’s garden,” Bilbo breathed out, feeling bile rising at the back of his throat.

“It’s alright, Master Baggins,” Oin comforted, placing a tender hand on the damaged shoulder. Bilbo would have flinched away had it not been for the boys holding him in place. “It’s just a dislocated shoulder. I can fix this easily.”

“Y-You can?” Bilbo didn’t want to be in pain any longer than necessary.

“Aye, Bilbo!” Fili reassured, grinning. “Kili and I had dislocated shoulders now and then. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“It is a simple enough injury.” Oin put both hands on the injured shoulder, giving the hobbit an earnest look. “I’m going to have to set it, Master Baggins. It’s going to be quick but painful.”

Bilbo breathe through his mouth, bracing himself. _It’ll be fine_ , he told himself. It was just a dislocated shoulder; Bilbo had seen plenty of that in his childhood because his playmates were particularly careless. He felt Fili and Kili tightened their grips on him.

“I’m going to count to three.” Oin looked at Bilbo in the eye. The hobbit nodded, knowing the almost deaf dwarf wouldn’t even hear him if he speaks. “And then, I’m going to—“ The healer swiftly pulled, twisted and pushed the appendage.

Bilbo felt the relief of the bone sliding in place. He also felt the momentary but extreme agony of the process; his whole left arm was suddenly being pricked by a thousand needles. He unconsciously let out the foulest curse he knew, followed by a soft cry that was definitely a whimper.

And he fainted on the spot.

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Gandalf hummed, tapping the statues that were once trolls with his staff. He mentally patted himself for a job well done.

“Where did you go to, if I might ask?”

The wizard turned to the approaching dwarf with a nonchalant face. “To look ahead,” he answered.

Thorin raised a brow. “And what brought you back?”

Gandalf stifled a snicker. Dwarf and men alike kept falling for his trap of riddles. “Looking behind.”

Thorin gave a resigned smile, not knowing what he expected. He long since realized that no concrete answers would be coming from the wizard.

“Nasty business,” Gandalf said, sobering up. His old knowing eyes went to the dwarrows helping each other get free. “Still, they’re all in one piece.”

“Thanks to your burglar,” Thorin couldn’t help but mutter, following the wizard’s gaze. The halfling was currently wrestling with his sister-sons, yelping all the way. The rest of the Company was watching the scene with obvious delight.

Thorin frowned. Wasn’t the halfling injured? Horsing around could only worsen his state. What were his nephews thinking?

“Yes, he’s rather clever, isn’t he?” Gandalf replied, breaking Thorin out of his thoughts. Then, he frowned, shooting the hobbit a perplexed and perturbed glance. “And quite the risk-taker too.”

That reminded Thorin of a notion that had been bothering him after the whole troll incident. “How did he know you would come to save him in time?” The burglar had even assured Fili and Kili that everything would be fine. Did the halfling’s confidence on Tharkûn truly went that far?

“Or perhaps,” Here, the furrow of Gandalf’s brows deepened. “He hadn’t expected to be saved.”

Thorin’s head whipped to the wizard, expression bewildered. “What do you mean, Wizard?”

Before Gandalf could reply with another nonsensical and disarming riddle, a cry echoed in the area. Their heads snapped towards the source of the sound, and found the hobbit slumped over Fili’s and Kili’s arms.

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“Steady, lads,” Oin instructed the two Durin heirs, gesturing that Bilbo be put on the ground. The young dwarrows complied, gently maneuvering the hobbit down.

“Oh dear,” Dori murmured, coming closer and peering down on the hobbit.

Several dwarrows followed Dori’s example, and gathered in a circle around Bilbo. Various degrees of concern were written on their faces. Surely, a disclocated shoulder couldn’t hurt so bad as to make their burglar faint?

“Give me some space,” Oin huffed out with a wave of his hand. “Can’t work with you lot hovering.”

The Company obediently moved back a step, muttering to themselves.

“He mustn’t be used to the pain then.” Fili thought out loud.

The only time Fili passed out from a dislocated shoulder was the first time he had one. It must have been Bilbo’s first time to ever get such. Not for the first time, Fili wondered why such a soft creature contented in his home would risk his life just to help a bunch of strangers on a mad quest. He removed his cloak, folded it unceremoniously, and placed it under the hobbit’s head.

Oin snorted. “He’s lucky he only has a dislocated shoulder. With the way those trolls were holding’im, it could’ve easily been worse.” To Gloin, he ordered, “Get me my kit.” The dwarf nodded and ran off to the field where the rest of ponies were kept.

“And had the wizard not have arrived in the nick of time,” Nori started, giving the hobbit a contemplative look. “We would’ve been sending his corpse in parts back to his Shire.”

Fili, Kili and Ori paled. Dori, ever the mother hen, loudly smacked Nori in the head. “Don’t you go saying things like that, you nitwit.”

Nori gave his brother half-hearted glare, rubbing his head, but remained silent.

“What is the matter?” The dwarrows parted to give the wizard a wide berth as he approached. Gandalf crouched down beside the unconscious hobbit.

Thorin content himself to stay outside of the circle the Company had created around the halfling. It was nearly mid-morning, and there were a lot of chores to do so they could move on. But Thorin allowed them a little time to hover over their smallest member. For some reason, some of the Company found kinship with the burglar even though he wasn’t a dwarf. Thorin wasn’t about to begrudge them on that, seeing as the halfling practically saved their lives (even though it was done in a very unwise way).

“He just passed out,” Kili answered, brushing away the curls stuck to Bilbo’s forehead. Suddenly, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Did you know that one of the trolls used Bilbo as a handkerchief? It sneezed on him like a wet towel! I saw the whole thing! It was . . .” Kili faltered, seeing the heated glares of the Company and one wizard. He promptly changed tactics. “. . . truly terrifying for Bilbo, I’m sure. He was so close to the trolls.” He ended with a solemn nod. Then, a realization crossed his mind, and he blinked in bafflement. “Now that I think about it, he wasn’t frightened. At all. He was so calm about the whole thing!”

“Seems the burglar has a bit of a backbone after all,” muttered Dwalin, a hint of grudging admiration in his tone and eyes.

“He was so brave,” Ori whispered, looking at Bilbo with no small amount of awe. “He put his life on the line just to save us.”

The Company was silenced by the revelation, exchanging wide-eyed looks. Gandalf merely gave a thoughtful hum, examining the extent of the hobbit’s injuries. He nodded approvingly at the properly fixed shoulder, and murmured a simple spell to speed up the process of healing. After all, there were dangers in this quest that could not be fought with a disabled arm.

“There is work to be done.” Their leader’s commanding voice snapped them out of their observation of the hobbit. “Let Oin tend to the halfling first.” Thorin gave the aforementioned member of the Company no more than a cursory glance. “Those who are able will go back to camp and pack the rest of the supplies.”

Dwalin, Balin, Bifur, Bombur, Dori and Ori were tasked to pack up the camp. The rest had burns that need Oin’s care and thus, had to wait in line. Gloin returned just as the former group left, holding up a satchel that clinked at every movement. Oin muttered a “thank you” as he accepted it, eyes still on the unconscious hobbit.

Gandalf straightened up, and gave a nod at the healer. “I trust that Bilbo would be in capable hands.” Oin didn’t reply, mostly because he hadn’t heard half of what the wizard said.

Gandalf met Thorin’s eyes and gestured with his staff. “There is work for us as well.” He glanced over the enormous statues of the beasts. “These trolls must have come down from Ettenmoors.”

The dwarven leader frowned. “Since when do mountain trolls venture this far south?”

It wasn’t long before the rest of the Company figured out that there was a cave nearby the trolls used for shelter during daylight. The remaining dwarrows, sans Fili and Kili who refused to leave Bilbo’s side, went to follow Thorin and the wizard to explore the cavern. Trolls were known not only for their healthy appetite but also for their avarice when it comes to all things shiny. They definitely couldn’t wait to find out what the beasts’ lair contains.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
> 
> I wanted to insert a fainting scene since I robbed Bilbo of that at the signing of the contract. So, tah-dah.
> 
> Next up: A familiar letter opener makes its entrance (y’all know what Bilbo thinks about that), followed by a familiar cuckoo wizard . . .
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcome! Help me improve my writing, guys!
> 
> Have an awesome day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	13. (Suicidal) Replacements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING/S: Suicidal thoughts/tendencies, implied depression.
> 
> A/N: Sorry for the later than usual update! Had so many consecutive tests last week and didn’t have time to sleep, let alone write. But now I’m freeEEEEEE (For a while, anyway)!!! So here’s the next installation of this uber crazy story.
> 
> Thank you for all the reviews, comments, favorites, bookmarks, and kudos! You guys are so awesome really!
> 
> Also, Shiningheart of ThunderClan, I fell over laughing when I first read your comment. Christ. Headcanon accepted! The foulest curse Bilbo knew and said in the last chapter was “Yavanna’s saggy left tit!” Man, it reminded me of my dip in the Harry Potter fandom.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Of course, I own The Ho--*the ghost of 100+-year-old genius linguist professor shows up* GAH! I don’t own The Hobbit! At all. Take it, Tolkien!
> 
> Enjoy~

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“Master Baggins.” A digit was tapping his cheek in an irritating rhythm. “Get up now, lad.”

Bilbo tried to slap the probing finger away. “It’s too early for this, Lobelia. You can’t have my spoons,” Bilbo made a valiant attempt to say all in one breathe. Unfortunately, all that came out was “Ughmy iagh vemyoons.”

Above him, Kili, Fili, and Oin exchanged bewildered looks.

“Bilbo.” And now, there were fingers running through his curls. That was much nicer. Scratch that; it was absolutely lovely. “You need to wake up.”

The hobbit hummed in contentment, leaning into the touch but still refusing to crack his eyelids open. His scalp tingled with the sensation, sending goosebumps from the hair at the back of his neck to the tufts on his feet.  Pleasant trills shot through his veins, warming his chest; his limbs relaxed out of their own accord. Very pleasant, it was. It had been such a _long_ time since anyone had touch him with any sort of tenderness. In fact, his mother was the last one to ever run her hand through his hair with such gentle affections.

The notion had Bilbo finally blinking into consciousness. His mother was dead (and he really hoped to join her soon). No one else could have showered him with such touches.

Three blurry figures focused into three dwarven faces. Kili and Fili grinned down at him for some unknown reason. Bilbo wondered what kind of mischief the brothers had afoot.

“There you go, laddie,” Oin said with approval.

“You told me you’ll count to three,” Bilbo couldn’t help but groan out, recalling the events that led him to lie down on the damp forest floor.

Kili and Fili chuckled, and Bilbo realized with a start that Kili’s fingers were the culprits to the pleasant strokes through his hair. The hobbit had not the will to tell him to stop.

“Aye,” Fili started. “Uncle told us that it’ll hurt more had you brace yourself against the pain.”

“Surprise makes it as painless as possible,” Kili added.

“Didn’t at all feel painless to me,” Bilbo murmured, eyes starting to droop.

Exhaustion dragged his limbs down to the earth, preventing him from doing anything productive. Perhaps it wasn’t too astonishing, seeing as he stayed up all night gallivanting with vicious trolls and dwarrows with misplaced heroism. He wanted to embrace the beckoning darkness and never come back from it. Oh dear, lethargy was hitting him quite hard today. The hand massaging his head didn’t help in the slightest as the action calmed his nerves.

“None of that, Master Baggins,” Bilbo’s eyes flew wide open as Oin shook him.

“We’re going now, Bilbo,” Kili informed him, removing his fingers from Bilbo’s curls. T’was a pity, the hobbit thought. “The others had already packed up our things.”

“Oh, I see,” Here he was, sleeping in while the others were doing all the work! The hobbit scolded himself for giving in to his fatigue.

When Bilbo attempted to get his feet under him, his vision blacked out for the briefest of moments. He felt lightheaded at the sudden change in height. Thankfully, Fili and Kili supported him before he could fall on his backside.

“Easy there,” Fili said with a small smile.

The hobbit blinked, realizing that something was restricting his movement. He stared down at the cast that encased his left arm, looping around the nape of his neck. Tiny pinpricks ran throughout the said appendage but they were mild and tolerable, unlike before. Some cuts on his cheeks and arms reeked of a kind of fragrant salve, making them sting less.

Bilbo also noted that he was dressed in a loose dwarvish garb, along with his red overcoat that was somewhat clean of troll snot (Bilbo was sure they did their best). Bilbo can only deduce that his best waistcoat was a lost cause (Goodbye, old friend).

“You shouldn’t use that arm for the next couple of weeks,” Oin advised, packing up his ointments and rolls of bandages.

“How long exactly?” Being handicapped like this would greatly increase the chances of his death in the wilderness. Bilbo wondered how long he would be in such precarious state. He may not have been killed by the trolls but at least he got something out of it.

Oin opened his mouth to answer but just then, Gandalf came striding towards them and said, “It would have been longer, my dear Bilbo, had I not cast a spell to quicken your healing.” Gandalf gave the hobbit a smile that was nothing short of fond. “As it is, you’ll be fully healed in less than a week.”

Of course, the wizard had to ruin it all.

He mentally sighed. Bilbo appreciated the wizard’s thoughtfulness, he really did, because he didn’t want to be in pain any longer than necessary. But sometimes he wished Gandalf had given his care to someone else. Still, he attempted return the smile and replied, “My thanks, Gandalf.”

“Of course, my dear.” Gandalf ruffled the hobbit’s hair briefly. Then, sobering up, the wizard presented the hobbit the small sword he had been carrying. “Here, this is about your size.”

Bilbo looked at the wizard like he was holding out a tonic that will make him live forever. The wizard cocked a brow in reply. After a few seconds, Bilbo gave in and hesitantly took ahold of the sword with his right hand. It was surprisingly light in his hand, unlike any of the weapons of the dwarrows. The sheath and handle had intricate patterns carved into it, giving the sword somewhat of a regal look.

“Where did you get this?” the hobbit couldn’t help but ask. He glanced at Gandalf’s robes, wondering how in Yavanna’s name the wizard managed to hide it all this time.

Bofur showed up out of nowhere and answered for Gandalf, “He found’it in the troll’s cave.”

“Aye,” Gloin followed. “It is a lair of treasures.” His nose wrinkled in distaste. “Although the smell is most foul.”

“Aye, smelled like my Aunt Burgil’s armpit,” Nori decided to put his unwanted two coins in.

Kili and Fili grimaced in disgust. Bilbo himself frowned at the crude remark.

“I can’t take this,” the hobbit said out of principle; he couldn’t accept something so lavish! He tried to hand it back but the wizard was having none of it.

“The blade is of Elvish make, which means it will glow blue when orcs and goblins are nearby.”

Oh. It was always good to know which direction Bilbo should be running to find his death. For that, Bilbo curled his fingers tighter around the blade, bringing it closer to himself; all thoughts of giving it back had vanished. Besides, thinking about it, the blade was a nice last resort just in case the impossible happened and Bilbo lived through this quest.

“I have never used a sword in my life,” the hobbit warned not only Gandalf but also the dwarrows around to hear him. He didn’t want to accidentally behead someone because of his ineptness.

Kili clapped a hand on his uninjured shoulder, grinning widely. Goodness, dwarrows and their back-slapping! It would all be fine if they only minded their strength. “Not to worry, Bilbo. We’ll teach you.”

Bilbo was about to protest; he didn’t want to learn how to defend himself. Gandalf’s solemn expression, however, made him pause.

“I hope you’ll never have to, Bilbo. But if you do, remember this; true courage is about not knowing when to take a life but when to spare one.” My, Gandalf looked quite serious about the matter.

“Wise words, Master Gandalf,” Fili said, nodding sagely. Then, he met Kili’s eyes and both dwarrows burst into boyish laughter.

Bilbo rolled his eyes at their antics. To Gandalf, he replied, “I will heed it, Gandalf.” He sincerely doubted he’ll ever use the sword against any enemy though.

“Something’s coming!” Thorin’s shout alarmed every one of the Company.

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That ‘something’ apparently was another wizard called Radagast the Brown, entering dramatically into their clearing on a sleigh pulled by _rabbits_ of all things. Large rabbits but rabbits all the same.

“I was looking for you, Gandalf!” Radagast said with a sense urgency, pointing at said wizard. “Something’s wrong. Something’s terribly wrong.”

Gandalf’s reservations about the whole matter were evident on his face. “Yes?”

Radagast opened his mouth to start. He blinked, looking lost for a moment. “Oh.” His eyes alight again with realization. Then, just as quickly, the spark died down and he scratched his head. “Just give me a minute.”

The Company watched in bemusement as the ragged wizard attempted to recall what it was he wanted to tell Gandalf. Kili made a rude gesture around his head, imitating a loose nail on a floorboard. Fili, Bofur, Nori, and Ori snickered.

“Oh,” the Brown wizard exclaimed in frustration. “I had a thought and now I’ve lost it.” _Poor sod,_ Bilbo thought pityingly. Bilbo wondered if the Brown wizard noticed there was bird poop at the side of his face. “It was right there! At the tip of my tongue.”

The hobbit was taken aback when a Gandalf pulled a stick insect right out of the other wizard’s mouth. He didn’t know whether to be disgusted or worried on how long that bug was in there.

“Right.” Gandalf said in a determined manner. “It seems I have matters to attend to. It will be just one moment.”

Thorin didn’t look at all happy at the delay; his arms were crossed most defiantly and his glare followed Gandalf as the two wizards went far off to have some semblance of privacy. The others, meanwhile, seemed glad for the reprieve. They went about their separate businesses, taking advantage of the unexpected lull in their adventure.

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The tension between Dori, Nori and Dwalin disappeared entirely after the ordeal. Glares and frowns were no longer exchanged and their interactions were no longer strained. Bilbo supposed that life-threatening situations made a big impact on their relationship, especially since they practically saved each other’s lives amidst the chaos.

Bilbo guessed this was a good time as any.

Nori sat on a stable log, using his dagger to pick dirt under his fingernails. The hobbit approached him, seating himself beside the dwarf. Nori shot him a suspicious glance but did not otherwise acknowledge his presence.

The hobbit fiddled with his cast, nervousness oozing out of his form. Talking with someone that was practically a stranger had always intimidated him, especially one as a no-nonsense dwarf as Nori. After a few beats, Bilbo cleared his throat. “M-Mister Nori, if—if I might, I have something I want to ask.” He started timidly.

The dwarf cocked an unimpressed brow, dagger stilling in the air. “I didn’t steal it. The lads hid it in their pockets.”

Bilbo blinked rapidly, befuddled. “Pardon me?”

“Your pouch of gold,” Nori drawled out. “I didn’t take it. Fili and Kili thought it’d be funny to see you panicking when you realize you lost your money.”

Bilbo lifted his overcoat and saw that, indeed, the sack that was supposedly strapped around the belt of his trousers had disappeared. Oh, he hadn’t the slightest idea. “When did they snatch it?” he wondered out loud.

Nori snorted. “About three days ago. The lads are wondering when you’ll notice.”

So that’s why the young dwarrows had been grinning mischievously for the past few days. Bilbo contemplated whether he should ask for it back; it wasn’t like there was a lot to buy from in the wilderness, especially since the hobbit planned to live no longer.

Then, Bilbo shook his head, reprimanding himself for getting side-tracked. “Oh, no, no, no. That isn’t what I want to ask about, although I am grateful you deemed to enlighten me on the matter.”

“Oh?” Nori twirled the dagged in his hand, side-eyeing the hobbit. The movement reminded Bilbo of how the troll did the same action above him. “Then, what did you want, Master Hobbit?”

“Just Bilbo, please,” he replied almost mechanically. “I just want to—How should I—“ Bilbo pressed his lips together, trying to gather his thoughts. “You are a thief by trade, yes?”

“Aye, I am.” Nori’s gaze narrowed with mistrust. “Does that bother you, Master Hobbit?”

“Oh no, not at all,” Bilbo hurriedly assured, waving his arm dismissively for added measure. “It’s just, well,” Nori’s impatience was starting to show on his face so the hobbit decided to get to the point. He cleared his throat. “Why was I hired then? Why did the Company need a burglar if they already have you?”

The dwarf’s expression settled into one of astonishment. “As you have said, hobbits are lighter on their feet than dwarrows.”

“Yes, but you’re a professional, no?” Bilbo frowned in confusion. “Surely no untrained hobbit could best any skilled thief.”

Nori shot him an undecipherable look. He smoothly rolled the hilt of his knife across his palm, and back again. After a while of thoughtful silence, the dwarf shrugged. “The wizard said we needed a fourteenth member and so, a fourteenth member we should have. I do not claim to fathom the thinking of wise beings but if what our history says about him is true, then he has never failed us. I trust he will not do so in this quest.” The dwarf tossed the blade in the air, and expertly caught it by its hilt. “Besides, thirteen is an unlucky number.”

Bilbo blinked. “Does that mean I was only hired as a lucky number? That I truly have no use to this quest?” Nori had basically said that Bilbo was hired at the behest of Gandalf, hadn’t he? It was nepotism at its finest, Bilbo thought. His participation in the quest meant nothing after all.

A weight lifted off the hobbit’s chest, the guilt he had been carrying lessening greatly. The fact that he would leave some important role in the Company empty weighed heavily in his mind when he joined the journey. Now that he knew Nori could replace him as soon as he perished, he need not worry anymore about hindering the Company’s mission. He let out sigh of outmost relief.

Something touched his elbow and Bilbo looked up to see it was Nori’s hand. The dwarf’s brows were furrowed with something akin to puzzlement and disbelief. “Master Hobbit, I assure you that you are anything but useless.”

The remark startled a self-deprecating chuckle out of Bilbo. He patted the thief’s arm, and replied, “I’m not offended at the implication, Master Nori. No need for flattery.” Bilbo had signed the contract fully knowing he couldn’t be much help to the quest. It wasn’t anything new.

Nori gave a vehement shake of his head. Placing a hand on the hobbit’s uninjured shoulder, he met his gaze with an earnest look. “Surely you realize you’ve saved our lives today.”

Bilbo frowned. “That was Gandalf.”

“Master Baggins, if you hadn’t stalled, not all of us would have survived the ordeal,” Nori said slowly, willing Bilbo to understand. “T’was a brave thing, what you did, _literally_ putting your head on the line to make sure none of us were eaten. Your kin will be proud of you.”

Bilbo shot Nori a look of wide-eyed look. “W-Well, I—“ A blush crept on his cheeks, unbidden, as he analyzed the bold praise he was given. No such thing had been directed at him since childhood. He wriggled his nose, eyes averted in embarrassment.

Nori cocked an amused brow, finding the sight endearing.

“O-Oh, but that was—“ Bilbo opened his mouth to tell Nori that he was the one who got them caught in the first place when . . .

A skin-crawling howl ripped through the air, making everyone freeze.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)). And by the way, Stitched_Wide_Open! I thank you very much for your offer to beta :D. But, besides having an erratic muse that I wouldn’t want to impose to anyone, I’m really shy about others reading my work before I deem them publishable. 
> 
> Next up: Wargs ahoy! Bilbo just want to rest for eternity; is that really so hard?
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcome! Help me improve my writing, guys!
> 
> Have an awesome day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	14. (Suicidal) Attempt: Orcs & Wargs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING/S: Suicidal thoughts/tendencies, implied depression, ACTIVE SUICIDAL ATTEMPT and . . . . uh . . . . evident hints of Bagginshield.
> 
> A/N: So . . . I have this chapter actually finished by the last week of March. But then I reread it and I was like ‘something’s not right . . .’ Then, I procrastinated and read some well-written Spirk, Cherik, Merthur and Bagginshield. But now, I’m back! Yay.
> 
> Thank you guys for still tuning in! Hahaha, I can’t believe how many kudos, favorites, follows, bookmarks and comments I’ve got! They’ve inspired me!
> 
> Hope this chapter does not disappoint! Enjoy~

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_“O-Oh, but that was—“ Bilbo opened his mouth to tell Nori that he was the one who got them caught in the first place when . . ._

_A skin-crawling howl ripped through the air, making everyone freeze._

“Was that a wolf?” Bilbo asked, tilting his head. Were wolves common among these parts?

“Wolf?” Nori was instantly on his feet, face grim as he brandished his dagger. “That is not a wolf.”

A menacing growl sounded uncomfortably close behind them. The dwarrows let out gasps and screams of various volumes, the younger ones’ high-pitched tones ringing above all. Bilbo startled at the sounds.

Nori’s eyes widened before he pulled the hobbit out of his seat, wrenching Bilbo’s hale arm so hard he thought he would have another dislocated shoulder. The hobbit yelped indignantly as he fell to the ground, Nori thankfully cushioning his fall. Still, the impact did no good to his casted limb.

Just then, an enormous warg snapped its teeth at the air where Bilbo’s head had been.

Bilbo cursed silently. Was he fated to knock on death’s door only for him to turn the hobbit away without so much as an invitation to tea?

Thorin swung his sword on the warg’s exposed neck, the blow landing with a sickening crunch. The poor animal died instantly without another sound.

Another warg appeared on the other side of the clearing, approaching swiftly towards the Company.

“Kili, get your bow!” Thorin shouted, trying to dislodge his blade from the dead warg’s hide.

The said dwarf nocked his arrow, aimed at the oncoming enemy, and fired. Kili hit it between the eyes, making it stumble across the steep hill. Dwalin immediately decapitated it with his axe.

The Company murmured amongst themselves, speculating at the sudden turn of events. Bilbo managed to get to his feet, and was currently helping Nori to his. The hobbit dusted off his clothes to the best of his abilities, wondering whether he could get those stains out. He looked to Nori just in time to catch the dwarf’s wince.

“Are you alright, Mister Nori?” Bilbo couldn’t help but ask. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” The hobbit knew he could be quite heavy. (Even though he would be considered underweight by hobbit standards)

Nori chuckled. “You were as light as a sack of quartz, Master Baggins.” The dwarf started to wave a dismissive hand but stopped midway, grimacing.

“Is it you hand?” Bilbo grabbed the said appendage, inspecting it.

Nori tried to take his hand back. “I may have sprained it a bit but—“

Goodness, no wonder Dori worried for his brothers. This one clearly did not know how to take care of himself. Bilbo held the hand with his immobile limb, and gently twisted it with the other. He massaged the joints the way his mother had whenever he had been on a particular rough adventure in the forest. Nori paused, giving the hobbit an odd look.

“There,” Bilbo gave the dwarf a smile. “Better?”

Nori took his hand back, rubbing his wrist. “You’re a fussy little thing, aren’t you?” he said with an upward tick at the corner of his mouth.

Before Bilbo could inform Nori that all hobbits consider that a compliment, the Company leader’s voice rang out.

“Warg scouts,” Thorin spat, finally freeing his sword. “Which means an orc pack is not far behind.”

“Orc pack?” Bilbo perked up, unable to tamper down the hope in his tone. He was told orcs only crawled in the lowlands.

“Who did you tell about you quest beyond your kin?” Gandalf demanded.

“No one,” Thorin answered.

“Who did you tell?”

“No one, I swear!” Thorin insisted. He gave the wizard a wary glance. “What in Durin’s name is going on?”

“You are being hunted.” Gandalf stated grimly, watching around as if swarms of enemy would befall them any second now, which appeared to be the case this time.

“By whom?” Bilbo inquired, looking between Thorin and Gandalf. And because it was the only orc name he knew, the word “Azog?” fell carelessly from his lips.

Balin and Gandalf inhaled sharply. The Company’s wide eyes turn to Bilbo. The hobbit stared confusedly and nervously back at them, wondering what he had said wrong.

Thorin growled at the hobbit. “That _filth_ would not be coming back from the dead any time soon, Burglar.”

Bilbo’s hands flew into a placating gesture. By the angry vein on the dwarf’s forehead, the hobbit worried Thorin might pop something. Heavens, this dwarf was quite short-tempered. “Alright, look. I’m sorry for my careless assumption but he’s the only orc I know that could be chasing you. W-Well, unless he had children? That would want to avenge him?” By the intense look Thorin was shooting him, Bilbo thought it was wise to shut up right about now lest he give the leader an aneurysm.

“Regardless,” Dwalin interrupted, cocking a brow at Bilbo’s direction. “We have to get out of here.”

“We can’t!” All turned to see Ori and Bifur running towards them, faces distressed. “T-The ponies! They’ve bolted!”

As if to remind them again of an oncoming tragedy, wargs of a not-far-enough distance howled loudly.

Before he could help himself, Bilbo’s mind conjured once again to the dark blades of orcs and the deadly sharp teeth of the wargs they ride upon. One swift arc of those swords, one snap of those canines . . . But Bilbo shook off the morbid thoughts. He had no wish to meet such creatures if it meant placing the Company in danger.

“Master Baggins!” Nori shook him frantically, pulling him out of his trance. “Come, we have to run!”

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Radagast had bravely volunteered to be the bait, and let the wargs and orcs chase him through the open fields while the Company ran in the opposite direction. The rabbits, surprisingly, managed to keep several paces ahead of the beasts.

The whole Company ran for their lives, following Gandalf’s lead. They hid behind large boulders and shrubberies. It was quite difficult to stay stealthy, given that it was an open field filled with only hills, dead grass and the occasional stones. Additionally, thirteen dwarves, a wizard and a hobbit did not make an inconspicuous group.

Bilbo tried to keep up, panting and flailing ungracefully. A gentlehobbit was never meant for anything more than luxurious walking around flat terrain. Not to mention, a casted arm apparently did nothing for his sense of balance. It’s not a surprise that he’s lagging by several feet.

They halted behind a small hill, watching as Radagast ran circles around their pursuers. Bilbo crashed into Ori, and the lad steadied him. None of them appeared even slightly out of breath after running for such long intervals.

“Oh d—dear, sorry, I—“ Bilbo doubled over, wheezing like a dying goat.

Ori placed a hand on his back, looking at him with concern. “Master Baggins, are you alright?”

Before Bilbo could assure Ori, they were up and running once again. With Thorin leading them this time, it wasn’t that much of a surprise to find that they circled back and was only meters away from the wargs. They doubled back, Gandalf shouting, “Stay together!” and Thorin followed with a “Move!”

They dashed this way and that. It was all a bit disorienting. Where in Middle Earth was Gandalf leading them?

Inevitably, one of the wargs caught their scent. It howled, signaling the others. The wargs and their riders then switched directions, and chased their Company. Radagast had disappeared to Yavanna knew where, and the dwarrows were now the new quarry.

“Run!”

Bilbo felt like he was going to be sick, not enough air filling his lungs. A walking stick would be mighty useful right about now.

The hobbit risked glance behind them, and saw a handful of orcs just right on their tails.  They were so near the hobbit, in fact, that should he slow down for just a few minutes, he’ll be tackled to the ground and killed instantly.

He wondered . . .

Emerald eyes assessed the dwarrows in racing ahead. They were swift and sure in their steps, considering the rocky earth. Bilbo, unused to such rough terrain and consequent running could only hope to keep up with them. Plus, the lack of sleep and food were taking a huge toll on him. Cramps attacked his legs and stomach, and black spots dotted his vision as he burned off energy he didn’t have. So, it wasn’t truly a hardship (to be honest, it was no a hardship at all) to slow down his pace, to shorten the length of his steps.

He took a deep breath, calming his racing heart as he wiped away the sweat on his forehead.

They were all running for their lives, and it was every creature for himself. Surely no dwarf would notice his absence until it was too late—not that Bilbo expected them to care.

He could hear the wargs and orcs closing in on him, blades singing and teeth snapping in the air. He squeezed his eyes shut, partly to stave off the blackening of his vision and partly in anticipation of what was to happen. Death won’t turn him from his door after all. Just a few more seconds and he would get to see his parents again . . .

“You’re too slow, Burglar,” was all the warning he got before he was lifted off of his feet like a bride on her wedding night.

Bilbo shrieked quite unmanfully (though he would deny it when Fili and KIli teased him), instinctively clutching the furry coat with his good arm. Eventually, he realized he need not hold on for the dwarf had quite a firm grip on him; it was unlikely that he would let the hobbit fall. Or let him down to meet his end, for that matter.

Still, that didn’t mean Bilbo won’t try. “Master Oakenshield! I assure you that—that I can run on my own. I would appreciate it if you put me down this instant!”

Thorin hefted the hobbit higher before he shouted, “Dwalin, cover me!” and promptly went and ignored Bilbo.

Rude.

The hobbit struggled to get out of the dwarf’s grasp, embarrassment flushing his cheeks. He kicked and elbowed the dwarf petulantly. Bilbo was certainly no damsel and he was most assuredly not in distress! Both the Baggins and Took in him flared with indignation. Unfortunately, the dwarven armor saved him from most of the hobbit’s attacks.

Thorin grunted when Bilbo’s good arm smacked his chin.

“Stay still, Halfling!” The dwarf tightened his grip, enough to completely dissolve any wiggle room Bilbo had before.

The hobbit made a squeak of protest that went largely disregarded. He shot Thorin his most ferocious glare (which, if you asked Thorin at that moment, was as intimidating as a hare blinking up at you).

The leader’s strides were fast and steady, even with a hobbit in his arms. He was taking Bilbo further and further away from his goal. The hobbit sighed in resignation. _Foiled once again_.

 They immediately caught up with the rest of the Company at another indiscernible rock outcropping. Kili’s arrows immediately put an end to any enemy that came close, and Dwalin decapitated everything in his path.

“We’re surrounded!” Fili yelled, wielding his two swords.

“Hold your ground,” commanded Thorin.

He gave Bilbo a contemplative look before finally placing the hobbit back on the ground.

Bilbo staggered to his feet, relieved to feel the soft earth under him. His Baggins side forced him to a grumble a “Thank you,” because it was the polite thing to do. Bilbo could not fault Thorin for having an honorable bone in his body.

“Arm yourself, Burglar.” Thorin himself pulled out a great elven sword, one similar in design with Bilbo’s but larger and deadlier. It fit aptly on the dwarf’s hands. “Should we go down, we will take these filths with us.”

“Right.” Bilbo’s blade sang shrilly as he pulled it out of its scabbard with less grace than he would have liked. He swallowed audibly.

Bofur popped out of nowhere and cheerfully informed, “The pointy end goes into the squishy bits, Master Baggins!”

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about mattocks to return an advice, Mister Bofur,” Bilbo couldn’t help but retort, nerves forcing out his Took side. The remark startled a laugh out of the hatted dwarf.

The notion of maiming a sentient being unsettled the hobbit to no end. The mental image of ripping away flesh that was not his own made him blanch. Dear Eru, these orcs might have families waiting for them to come home. They might be leaving lovers and friends behind in grief.

 _Stop that, you daft Baggins_. Bilbo’s Took side argued. _These dwarrows deserve to live far more than any bloodthirsty orc_. A resolve planted itself in his mind, and he raised his sword a little higher, held it a little firmer. These dwarrows also have families who solely depended on them. They were on a noble quest to reclaim their homeland. They had youngsters—Fili, Kili, Ori—who had a bright future ahead of them.

For those reasons, he would fight alongside them. Bilbo could breathe easier, suddenly. In that moment, an exhilaration unlike any other overwhelmed all his being.

Compared to all the deaths he had wished for before, this one was perhaps the most appealing of them all—to be included in a group of gallant creatures, to go down swinging and kicking because one refused to give up until the end.

Then, Gandalf’s voice rang with the hope of salvation. “This way, you fools!” he yelled before disappearing inside a passage hidden behind large boulders.

Well, perhaps they live to fight another day. Strangely, Bilbo felt only _slightly_ disappointed at missing another opportunity. He felt more thrilled at the thought of seeing all of the Company alive and unharmed.

The dwarrows all rushed towards the rock outcropping, and proceeded to slide down into a small tunnel.

Bilbo gladly sheathed his sword. “Kili!” he shouted when he noticed the wargs were almost upon the young dwarf. “Stop being heroic and run!”

“Why, Bilbo!” Kili fired at an oncoming warg, twinkling eyes on the hobbit. The arrow found its mark with deadly accuracy, killing the beast instantly. “I didn’t know you think so highly of me.”

Dwalin smacked him at the back of the head. “Stop dawdling!” With a harsh push that sent Kili stumbling ahead, Dwalin ordered, “Run!”

Bilbo—and Thorin, the hobbit belatedly noted—waited until the two dwarrows reached them. Then, the four of them dashed towards the entrance of the hidden pass.

“Um,” Bilbo shifted his casted arm and looked down on the rather steep slide of the entrance. He couldn’t hide a wince; this was going to be utter agony.

“Not to worry, Bilbo!” Kili informed with delight before grabbing him none-too-gently, and stealing the steady ground from underneath Bilbo’s feet.

Bilbo yelped as they skittered down the hole together. Dwarrows and their hobbithandling! Kili was under him the whole time, shielding his injured arm from the scraping it was sure to get. The young dwarf was also the one who slowed their descent until they reached the bottom.

Kili released him with grin. Bilbo sighed in exasperation before returning with a grateful smile.

Thorin and Dwalin followed closely behind them.

“—en, eleven, twelve, thirteen and a hobbit.” Gandalf said, nodding with satisfaction. “Seems we all made it.”

A horn sounded up above, alarming the whole Company. They raised their weapons once more, wary eyes on the entrance of the cavern. An orc fell through, startling several of them. An arrow protruded from its chest and the creature appeared to be in its death throes. It gave one last twitch before stilling.

Thorin pulled out the arrow with jerk. He inspected it for less than a second before throwing it away like it was the dirtiest thing in Middle Earth.

“Elves,” he spat viciously.

Bilbo frowned confusedly at the venom in the dwarf’s voice.

“There’s a pathway here!” Dwalin gestured at the passageway opening up to their right. “But I cannot see where it leads. Do we follow it?”

“We follow it, of course!” Bofur nodded vigorously, eager to get as far away from orcs and wargs as possible. The others seemed to be in the same mindset as they hurriedly followed Bofur’s lead.

“I think that would be wise.” Gandalf muttered as they all scampered to find the exit through the narrow passageways.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)). 
> 
> I’ve always wondered how Bilbo could have kept up with the dwarves since he doesn't actually do any sort of exercise. But meh, I guess Bilbo couldn't really get caught by the orcs, could he?
> 
> Next up: Bilbo fanboys a little (‘cause what else would you if you travelled to the setting of your childhood tales?). Also, Lord Elrond and a few elves are confused by the lone hobbit carrying a . . . somewhat interesting soul.
> 
> Have an awesome day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	15. (Suicidal) Homely House I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING/S: Implied depression
> 
> A/N: OMG, I just read the most AMAZING Hobbit fic and I can’t . . . I keep rereading it and was in a trance for days because I know I could never compare to it and ugh! Read [Love Pays No Indemnity by Jana](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1175282?view_full_work=true)! I know, I know, the pairing is suspicious but trust me, the author made it so believable and heartbreaking. I worship this fic and the author.
> 
> Okay, enough advertising. This chapter is a bit of a filler for the next. I’m not contented with it because it has not enough depressive thoughts but it had to be written.
> 
> Thank you guys for still tuning in! Hahaha, I can’t believe how many kudos, favorites, follows, bookmarks and comments I’ve got! They’ve inspired me!
> 
> Enjoy~

❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤

He had heard tales about it from his mother.

The falls of pure clear spring shimmering like crystals, the tall towers with intricate and elegant architecture, the wonderful fauna surrounding the whole place, the graceful elves with sweet soft music and gentle smiles, . . .

As an adventurous fauntling, Bilbo always imagined packing up one day to go to the legendary house of the elves. He would shake their hands, play around in their garden, learn their songs, and read their poems. Her mother’s descriptions were truly fascinating. But they, unfortunately, had nothing on the real thing.

“The Valley of Imladris,” Gandalf informed them, an indulgent smile evident in his voice as he took in the hobbit’s expression. “In the common tongue, it is known by another name.”

“Rivendell,” Bilbo breathed out, standing awestruck.

The valley was a feast on the eyes, a splendor for all of the Company to see. Bilbo felt a bit breathless at the sight of its cream white structures. He never expected to be transported into one of her mother’s stories. With the warm peacefulness engulfing him even as he only gazed upon the Last Homely House, he thought himself glad for having survived this far in the journey.

Too bad that his companions didn’t feel remotely the same.

A certain dwarven leader certainly had no problem making his dislike known.

“This was your plan all along,” Thorin accused the wizard. “To seek refuge with our enemy.”

Bilbo casted a curious glance at the pair. The quarrel between dwarrows and elves goes back centuries. The hobbit couldn’t claim to know what type of sin the race committed against each other that the grudge stayed through the long years. However, it really wasn’t proper to think ill of creatures you have never even met.

Gandalf appeared to think the same for he gave the dwarf a proper scolding.

But Thorin’s face further crumpled in distaste. “The elves will try to stop us.”

Bilbo perked up at the remark. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to visit Rivendell after all . . .

“Of course they will.” Gandalf conceded. “But we have questions that need to be answered.”

At the reminder, the dour dwarf deflated slightly and resignation was clear on his face. The other dwarrows grumbled amongst themselves, knowing they had no other choice.

“This needs to be handled with tact and respect.” The wizard raised a meaningful brow at the Company, particularly aimed at Thorin. “And no small amount of charm. That is why I will do the talking.”

Bilbo gave a nod in agreement; that might be the wisest thing Gandalf had ever said.

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Gandalf led them over sloping hills, a bridge without rails, and into a circular courtyard. Bilbo gladly took in the sights; even though they haven’t entered the city proper, the surrounding landscapes was as breathtaking up close.

The dwarrows groused, their dislike for the place evident in their features. They looked at everything with cynical eyes, weapons raised and stances tensed. Bilbo rolled his eyes at their churlish behavior. The two elven guards posted at the entrance of the city stared at them with suspicion.

“Mithrandir.” The whole Company turned at the name, and saw an elf approaching from the city’s entrance.

“Ah, Lindir!”

The elf placed an open palm on his chest and made a sweeping gesture. A greeting in a true elven fashion! Gandalf returned it with mirth. Bilbo was tempted to try it but reigned himself just in time.

“Stay sharp,” the hobbit heard Thorin mutter to Dwalin. If Bilbo had to roll his eyes one more time, he would find them on the floor.

“I must speak with Lord Elrond.” Gandalf said, getting straight to the point.

THE Lord Elrond? Bilbo looked around, hoping the legendary elf would pop out of nowhere. It was irrational, of course, but there was no harm in dreaming. It wasn’t everyday you get to meet a figure prominent in your childhood stories.

The elf, Lindir, gave the dwarves behind the wizard a nonplussed glance, which clued the hobbit that the prejudiced may not be as one-sided as he thought. Lindir replied, “My Lord Elrond is not here.”

Bilbo tried and failed to hide his disappointment.

“Not here?” Gandalf frowned.

As if on cue, a horn blew near the valley, startling the Company. The sound was eerily similar to the one they heard in the hidden pass. They turned around and was met by several elves riding in horseback. The horses were dashing towards them in alarming speeds.

Thorin shouted something in their language and the dwarrows scrabbled about like headless chickens, weapons raised threateningly. In a few seconds, Bilbo realized they were actually forming some sort of battle stance; they stood in a tight circular formation, each dwarf facing a flank and leaving no side unguarded.

Without preamble, Bofur grabbed Bilbo by the back of his coat and proceeded to drag him into the center of the circle. Utterly bemused, the hobbit merely let him. His injured arm twinged at the abuse and Bilbo rolled his shoulder to ease the pain. Joining him in the well-defended center were Kili, Fili, and Ori. Irritation welled in his chest for a moment as he was reminded why he _had_ survived this far; the overprotectiveness of these blasted dwarrows.

Within minutes, the elves had them surrounded, their large horses circling the dwarrows. Bilbo couldn’t be sure but the children of Oromë appeared to be looking down on them, antipathy evident in their features.

_The grudge is definitely not one-sided . . ._

Unnoticed by the hobbit, more than one elf’s gaze lingered on him, expression marred with confusion and disbelief.

Gandalf looked at it all with unhidden disapproval.

“Gandalf!” a dark-haired elf greeted.

“Lord Elrond!”

Bilbo perked up, standing on his tiptoes to gaze upon the elf conversing with the wizard. The anticipation he felt can only be compared to his excitement for an ingenious death. Unfortunately, all the hobbit could see was the lord’s caped back as he elegantly stepped down from his horse. Sindarin flowed freely from the elf’s and wizard’s mouths, familiar in tone but not so much as a language.

“Keep down,” one of the dwarrows whispered harshly, palming the hobbit’s shoulders and settling him back on his heel. Bilbo’s nose wiggle was the only sign of his annoyance. Didn’t the dwarrows understand that visiting Rivendell was a fauntling’s dream come true?

There must have been some sort of cue because finally, after a few minutes, the dwarrows loosened their formation. They still held a wary expression and held their weapons aloft but they relaxed minutely at the very least.

Lord Elrond addressed their leader. “Welcome, Thorin, son of Thrain.” His bearing was straight and regal, an additional reminder of his royalty aside from the circlet adorning his head.

“I do not believe we have met,” Thorin replied pointedly.

Bilbo wondered if a hard smack at the back of the rude dwarf’s head would go unnoticed by the Company. Probably not. The hobbit wished he’d hit the dwarf harder earlier when they were escaping the orc pack.

Lord Elrond did not appear offended, bless him. “You have your grandfather’s bearing.” He inclined his head, dark eyes astute. “I knew Thror when he ruled Under the Mountain.”

“Indeed?” The dwarf mimicked the gesture and added, “He made no mention of you.”

“Superb diplomatic skills. Truly astounding.” Bilbo muttered lowly, glancing around the entrance to the valley and refusing to watch their leader make an utter arse of himself.

He heard a couple of snickers behind him, some sounding like they came from the elves still on horseback. The hobbit turned, wanting to see if some entertaining event had happened behind him. He was astonished to see that their glimmering eyes were on him.

He was also mortified to note that _everyone’s_ eyes were currently on him.

The Company’s gazes were wide-eyed with surprise (and a hint of betrayal, they would later confide), except for Thorin’s whose stare could burn skin and bones for its utter fierceness and rage. The elves were all in various states of amusement, Gandalf sharing their delight. Lord Elrond, confound it all, seemed to be looking at the hobbit like he was some sort of riddle to be solved.

Apparently, lowly muttering was not in Bilbo’s skillset.

“Um.” He sorely wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He waited a few seconds for his wish to be granted. No such luck.

“It has been a long time since a hobbit has wandered into my halls,” Lord Elrond said, confused frown fading in lieu of an inquisitive cock of his brow.

That was Bilbo’s cue. “B-Bilbo Baggins, at your service, Lord Elrond,” he introduced with a bow, trying to move his injured arm as little as possible. He ignored the grumbles of the dwarrows beside him.

“Well met, Master Baggins.” Lord Elrond said with an elven greeting. Bilbo enthusiastically returned the gesture.

The elf stepped forward with the clear intention of approaching the lone hobbit. The dwarrows in front, even Thorin, none-too-subtly blocked his way. Bilbo huffed before swiftly shoving himself forward, covertly pinching the hands that dare hinder his quest. He would not be thwarted in meeting his childhood idol by a bunch of prejudiced dwarrows. Lord Elrond and Gandalf watched it all with unhidden amusement.

“Come.” The elf lord placed a hand on the hobbit’s uninjured shoulder. “I offer you and your companions dinner.”

“Dinner!” Fili staggered to Bilbo’s right side, consciously displacing the tree-shagger’s hand upon _their_ hobbit.

“Why didn’t you say so!” Kili appeared on Bilbo’s left, just in case the elf lord had any more ideas. “We love to have dinner! Which way is it?”

The hobbit gave each dwarf an unamused glare. He sent the elf lord an apologetic look. Thankfully, Lord Elrond didn’t appear offended, seemingly used to dwarrows and their appalling lack of manners.

“Food!” Bofur exclaimed.

“We accept your offer!” Gloin gruffed out.

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The dwarrows’ enthusiasm at the thought of sustenance waned as they were presented with the endless sight of greens. They all stare with despaired eyes at the bowls and bowls of lettuce, spinach, kale, Brussel’s sprouts, olives, beans, cabbage, celery, asparagus, and broccoli.

“Where’s the meat?” one of the dwarrows hissed, rummaging through the bowls for a miracle.

Perhaps it was the peaceful ambiance of the setting, maybe it was because Bilbo met his childhood hero, or maybe this was one of his good days. No matter what the reason was, Bilbo’s appetite came back with ferocious vengeance.

He grabbed a bowl full of green beans and emptied it onto his plate before doing the same to a plate of broccoli. He tried to temper it down at first, eating at calmly and steadily. But there was no stopping a hungry hobbit, not even himself.

Within a few minutes, he cleaned out his plate and five nearby bowls of vegetables. And that was with an immobile arm. He finished an apple with seven large bites and moved on to the vegetable soup. The quality of the meal cannot compare to a hobbit’s cooking (there weren’t even meat!) but Bilbo’s stomach didn’t seem to care either way.

Halfway through the soup, the hobbit caught Dwalin’s shocked gaze. He paused and returned the stare with a questioning one, dipping his head to the side. The dwarf merely shook his head with disbelief and handed the hobbit a bowl full of green grapes.

Bilbo accepted it with a grateful grin and promptly popped a piece in his mouth.

“You appear awfully hungry, my dear.” The hobbit turned to see the wizard frowning, discerning eyes on him.

Of course, Gandalf’s eyes were not the only ones watching him. Once again, Bilbo had everyone’s undivided attention. Even the musicians, whose hands continued playing a melodious calming tune, stared at him with mild concern.

He swallowed down the grape, along with the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. Oh dear, where had his manners gone? Being hungry was no excuse to eat like a ravenous wild pig.

“I—I . . .” He avoided anyone’s eyes, mortified. “I’m sorry. I don’t—“

“It’s quite alright, Master Baggins.” Bilbo looked up at Lord Elrond. “I’m sure food is hard to come by when travelling in the wilderness. I will not begrudge you for anything.”

“Do you really like greens that much, Bilbo?” Fili asked, casting a disgusted glance at the said meal.

“As much as any other meal,” Bilbo replied before chewing on a loaf of bread. “But they seemed to have sparked my appetite.”

Thankfully, after that embarrassment, Bilbo managed to have control over his cravings. The conversation shifted to swords—specifically, to the blades Gandalf and Thorin found in the troll caves. Bilbo tuned them out, preferring to listen to the music of the flutes and harps the elven choir was playing for them. The musicians moved gracefully all around the Company, synchronizing in some sort of slow elegant dance with their instruments as their partners. The melody was a balm to Bilbo’s soul, and he felt some numbness from his chest chip away.

Kili’s grin was wide, eyes sparkling with something akin to coquettishness. Bilbo caught him winking at an elf maid playing a harp. The hobbit halted in shock, blinking rapidly. It seemed not all dwarrows share the biases against elves after all. Dwalin, along with Oin and Bofur, gave Kili an unimpressed look. Almost immediately, the smile dropped from the young dwarf’s face.

“Can’t say I fancy elf maids myself,” Kili said, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “Too thin. They’re all high cheekbones and creamy skin. Too less of facial hair for me.” He shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. Bofur and Bilbo both gave him indulgent smiles. “Although, that one there is not bad,” Kili couldn’t help adding, pointing at the elf behind him.

Bilbo turned to look for himself and found himself stifling a chuckle.

“That’s not an elf maid,” Dwalin mock whispered. And indeed, the elf’s obviously masculine features became known to the whole Company.

Raucous laughter echoed throughout the table at Kili’s mistake. The young dwarf’s cheeks colored with embarrassment at the dwarrrows’ mirth. It was all good-natured teasing but by Kili’s expression, he didn’t seem to take it that way.

Bilbo’s smile faded as a notion creeped into the forefront of his mind. “Is it a forbidden concept then? In dwarven culture?”

“What is, lad?” Oin asked.

“The idea of two people of the same gender courting?” Bilbo clarified.

The laughter stopped abruptly, the dwarrows taken aback by Bilbo’s question.

“Not so,” Dori started. “We have very few females, Master Baggins, so the idea of two males together is not a foreign one.”

“But the notion of two females is?” Bilbo deducted.

“Aye.”

Bilbo frowned. “Is it because Kili likes elves then?”

The aforementioned dwarf blanched. “It was a jest, Bilbo! I meant nothing by it.”

“My mother once said that a jest is almost always half-serious.”

“Well, I was fully jesting!” Kili insisted, beginning to look angry. Dwalin, Oin, Bofur, Bombur, Fili, Dori and Ori watched their interaction with curious eyes.

 _What’s wrong with liking elves?_ Bilbo was about to inquire but thought better of it. He couldn’t judge another’s culture. “Alright.” Bilbo relented, going back to his food. He shouldn’t pry anyway. It wasn’t any of his business.

Kili was still frowning but he appeared glad the subject had been dropped. Fili gave his brother a concerned glance but said nothing.

Suddenly, as soon as it came, Bilbo’s appetite waned. He dropped the sprouts in his hand, feeling slightly queasy. A headache started at the base of his skull, throbbing with every beat of his heart. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to eat so much after so long with little food.

“Change the tune, why don’t you?” Nori grumbled to a nearby elf. “I feel like I’m in a funeral.”

“Is somebody dying?” Oin asked, looking around.

“Alright, lads,” Bofur grinned, expression full of cheer and mischief. “There’s only one thing for it.”

And Bilbo could only watch as hell erupted onto the halls of Rivendell.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)). 
> 
> Man, I love Bilbo and Elrond’s friendship. Too bad the movie didn’t show much about it.
> 
> Next up: Bilbo explores Rivendell and bonds with a few elves.
> 
> Have a magnificent day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	16. (Suicidal) Homely House II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING/S: Implied depression, descriptions of a mild panic attack, little bit of suicidal thoughts/tendencies (though not as much as I’d like).
> 
> A/N: Welp, this took a slightly unexpected turn because the characters just took a life of their own. But finally, ta-da!
> 
> MOVIE REC: Guys, watch Colorful directed by Keiichi Hara!!! It’s a very wonderful Japanese film about a soul who apparently committed a great sin before he/she died. Because of this, the soul would be destroyed and he/she would not be reincarnated again. But the soul won some kind of life lottery in the afterlife and is given a chance to redeem himself/herself. The soul goes back to earth to possess the body of 14-year-old Makoto Kobayashi, who committed suicide and is dying, to find out the great sin he/she committed. The plot twist is predictable but the journey is so heartbreaking and heartwarming. I’m recommending it here because of its theme is a lot similar to this story’s and I want to share it to you guys. 
> 
> Plus, it helped me arrive at the ending I wanted for this story. :D  
> Okay, enough advertising.
> 
> OH MY GOD, thank you for all the kudos, comments, bookmarks, follows and favorites! They always make my day and inspire me!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Tolkien books! I wrote them all. You know that part in LOTR where Sauron turned good because Frodo became his friend and started atoning for his sins? Yup, I wrote that. Also, that part where Bilbo shouts at the orcs for being mean to the Company and the orcs were so frightened of him that they never attacked anyone again? That’s my idea. What? What do you mean those didn’t happen . . .
> 
> Enjoy~

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“And what were you doing on the Great East Road?” Lord Elrond inquired calmly, something akin to suspicion in his glance.

He saw the meaningful gaze exchanged by Mithrandir and the exiled dwarf prince. Thorin excused himself from the table, cleverly evading the question.

Elrond relented on the matter and picked up his goblet of wine. To Mithrandir, he said, “Thirteen dwarves . . .” His eyes strayed to the creature of the West, who was laughing gleefully with his companions. “And a hobbit. Strange travelling companions, Gandalf.” He tore his eyes away from the scene and took a sip of his wine.

Gandalf did not miss the way Elrond’s whole countenance softened at the mention of Bilbo. The wizard cocked a curious brow but decided not to mention it. Surely the lord would have told him if anything was amiss.

“These are the descendants of the house of Durin,” Gandalf defended. “They are noble and decent folk.”

“And what of Master Baggins?” Lord Elrond asked casually. Too casually. The wizard’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know why he wished to accompany the dwarves in this journey?”

Gandalf didn’t get a chance to answer—if he was going to even give a proper answer and not one of his annoying and disarming remarks—because Bofur had climbed up in the middle of the table and started singing.

"~ _δ ~_ The~re is an inn, a merry old inn ~ _δ ~_ ” The hatted dwarf stomped his feet and made wide gestures with his arms.

The rest of the Company picked up the silverware and started creating a crude beat with them. Soon, all of them synchronized and joined Bofur in singing, creating a boisterous and cheerful (and irritating) tune.

“~ _δ ~_ beneath an old grey hill ~ _δ ~_  
~ _δ ~_ And there they brew a beer so brown ~ _δ ~_  
~ _δ ~_ That the Man in the Moon himself came down ~ _δ ~_  
~ _δ ~_ one night to drink his fill ~ _δ ~”_

The elven musicians stopped playing, shock and affront coloring their features. Elrond attempted to keep his composure, knowing that losing it would be the intended goal of these shenanigans. By the smirk on Thorin’s face, he might not be completely successful in that regard.

Then, food came flying all over the place. They hit the sacred statues of the dining halls, barely missing the elves serving the Company. The dwarves seemed to care not on wasting greens. They threw them everywhere in the guise of mirthful celebration.

Gandalf sighed in exasperation.

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Bilbo couldn’t breathe.

His chest was caving in, lungs constricting and stomach twisting in knots. His headache climbed to the forefront of his skull, hammering down on his temples. The dwarrows remained obliviousness to his plight, continuously singing in an obnoxious manner.

This was the first time the Company got rowdy since their dinner at Bag End. Bilbo thought he had already adjusted to whatever unruly antics the dwarrows showed. But now, everything was too loud, too wild, too chaotic, and they were wasting so much food! He couldn’t breathe. There were too many people and the room was closing in on them.

“Are you alright?” A hand on his casted arm temporarily snapped him out of his panicked thoughts.

The hobbit shakily got to his feet, feeling like he was going to be sick any minute. “Just need some air,” he muttered, not really caring if anyone hear him.

With that, he sped out of the dining halls of Rivendell.

Three sets of eyes followed him until he was out of sight.

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Bilbo gripped the railing with white knuckles, taking deep calming breaths. He let his eyes wander the forestry surround the Last Homely House, taking comfort in all that natural green and good earth. His headache dissipated at the sight but that was the only good thing so far.

With a trembling hand, he covered his mouth. He fervently hoped he could keep the food he ate down. He swallowed rapidly, trying to ease the tension in his stomach and throat.

“Are you well?” Bilbo turned to see Lindir, the elf that first greeted them, exit the dining hall to approach him. “I shall send for a healer if your arm—“

“No, no, no.” Bilbo hastily refused. “Please. I-I just need a m-moment.”

“Of course.” Lindir immediately nodded in assent. He stepped up beside Bilbo, a considerable distance between them, and didn’t leave.

The hobbit glanced nervously up at him but didn’t attempt to say anything else for fear not only words would come out if he opened his mouth. He breathed in deeply, smelling the sweet scent of leaves carried by the breeze, and exhaled after a few seconds. After a few minutes of this, his whole body started relaxing, coiled muscles unfurling. And most of all, his stomach ceased its churning.

“Thank Yavanna,” he mumbled, rubbing his chest with his good hand.

Of course, the never-ending numbness and emptiness still clawed his insides. But at least, his chest had stopped squeezing itself and he could breathe freely.

“Is there anything you need?” Lindir spoke up, placing a gentle hand upon the hobbit’s back.

Bilbo flushed, remembering someone had witnessed his moment of weakness. He always locked himself alone in his room whenever he was feeling particularly overwhelmed by the world. It wasn’t an option here, of course. He stared at the greenery outside instead of meeting the elf’s eyes.

“I a—apologize for being—“ Bilbo made a gesture to encompass the whole debacle, not really having a term for the bouts of breathlessness. He let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “I’m afraid I don’t do well in rowdy crowds.”

“There is no shame in that,” Lindir said kindly. He hesitated for a beat before adding, “After the war during the Second Age, many of my brothers and sisters suffered a similar affliction.”

“Oh?” Bilbo couldn’t imagine those strong elegant elves experiencing something as unsophisticated as breaking down like the hobbit had done.

Lindir wore a solemn and somewhat sad expression, eyes glazed with the memories of time long past. “Their spirits and minds have been damaged by battle and they journeyed to the Grey Havens to heal.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Bilbo said sympathetically, not knowing what else to say.

Elves were gifted with immortality by the Valars. Unless they die in battle, they don’t die at all. But those who tired of their long lives and who seek to rest cross the seas to find peace in the Undying Lands. The fact that those poor elves decided to find rest in Valinor truly say something about the state of their souls.

“What has damaged yours?” Lindir whispered, thinking out loud.

“Pardon?” Bilbo blinked confusedly up at the elf.

Lindir shook his head. “I apologize. It isn’t my business.” Before the hobbit could ask what wasn’t, the elf continued. “Do you wish to go back?” he asked with a sweeping an arm behind them.

Bilbo glanced back at the entrance to the dining hall, seeing the shadows of the people inside. He heard the muffled sounds of the dwarrows’ singing, less boisterous now that Bilbo had put a distance. Still, he didn’t think he could bear to go inside just yet.

Emerald eyes darted to the long hallways, elven guards marching around every other door. He nodded to himself, making a decision. It couldn’t hurt, could it? Who knew how long the Company planned to stay? Besides, this would surely be the last time he would visit Rivendell. Better take advantage of the opportunity.

Bilbo gave a shake of his head in reply. “Could I walk around a bit? I won’t break or displace anything.”

“Very well. Do you want company?”

“No need.” Bilbo gave a wan smile. “I’ll be fine on my own.” After being around so many people, he wanted to be alone for a while.

Lindir appeared to get the hint. He merely nodded in agreement. “As you wish. If you have a need of anything, ask any of the guards and they shall get it. My Lord Elrond will speak to you later in private.”

Bilbo’s brows raise with surprise. What could Lord Elrond possibly want to speak to him about? Had he done something wrong? Trepidation creeped into him but before Bilbo could ask any questions, Lindir was already halfway to the noisy dining room.

He supposed he would just have to find out later.

Bilbo adjusted the cast on his arm and giddily padded down the corridors. No use worrying about the future. He had some exploring to do for now.

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Bilbo stared in awe at the shards of the sword wielded by King Elendil of the Dunedain, the Narsil. Legend had it that the sword had the ability to slice through the Dark Lord’s flesh during the First Age.

Bilbo tore his gaze from the relic and it landed on the nearby tapestry. He wandered closer, curious. The embroidery was very well-made, depicting the battle of Isildur and Sauron five hundred years into the Second Age. The details were astounding, capturing even the golden glow of Sauron’s Ring as the Dark Lord attempted to cut Isildur down. He admired it for a few moments, smiling, before reluctantly moving on.

He strolled through bridges, looked down on clear ponds, meandered through courtyards and gardens. He encountered a few guards here and there, some giving him strange looks—But other than that, they let him to his explorations. All the while, a big grin stayed on his face. He felt like a child all over again, dreaming of faraway lands and mystical creatures. Except, he wasn’t dreaming at all and Rivendell wasn’t as far away as everyone in the Shire thought.

For the first time in a long while, Bilbo felt genuinely at peace. There was something about the place, about the scenery or perhaps the ambiance, that filled in the emptiness in his soul. It seemed like a venue for healing, for something pure, for getting outmost relief. It felt like no evil, in thought or actions, could ever enter this place.

The hobbit found himself on a balcony of a high tower, feeling the warm breeze on his face. He wished he’d brought his pipe; it would be wonderful to smoke with this scenery. He gazed down, afflicted by the beauty of the structure and not by the potential death it wrought.

Bilbo paused, realizing that since he entered Rivendell, not one melancholic thought had crossed his mind.

He didn’t know whether the epiphany gladdened or frightened him.

He heard footfalls behind him and a familiar voice said, “Not with your companions?” Lord Elrond came to stand beside him, holding onto the railings. He gave the hobbit a smile a grandfather would give to his favorite grandson.

It unnerved Bilbo quite a bit. He recalled Lindir’s words earlier and unease came rushing back to him. “Uh, I—I shan’t be missed.” He replied, attempting to return the smile.

He must’ve said the wrong thing because the Lord Elrond’s lips pressed into a thin line. Something forlorn passed his expression, wise eyes flickering to the expanse of his city.

“The—The truth is,” Bilbo tried to find the words to amend whatever mistake he made. He defaulted to self-criticism—that’s always safe. “H-Half of them don’t think I should be on this journey.” He gave a shrug and let out an awkward laugh.

Thorin and Dwalin freely expressed their feelings about it and Bilbo was sure the rest was just being polite. Fili and Kili may be the only ones who sincerely believed the hobbit to be suited for anything on this adventure.

“Indeed?” Lord Elrond didn’t seem any more pleased. “From the few I’ve met, I would say that hobbits are very resilient.”

“Really?” He couldn’t help the disbelief that dripped in his tone. “They must be truly notable then,” he said out of politeness. Resilient? No other race would describe hobbits as such! They were a peaceful folk whose deeds consisted of having the largest pipeweed production and eating competitions.

Lord Elrond’s curled upwards in a fond smile, clearly reading the things that went unsaid. “Yes, I would describe Belladona Took’s character as such.”

Bilbo spluttered. “You knew my mother?”

“Did she not tell you about her visits here?”

“She did. But I didn’t know—I couldn’t presume that you knew of her.” Bilbo stuttered out, still reeling from the revelation. “Though I suppose she couldn’t enter here without your say-so.”

“She was a vivacious one.” Lord Elrond remarked, sounding nostalgic as he folded his arms behind his back and stared at the expanse of his city. “A lively creature, running about and excited at the littlest of things. She had a fondness for singing and dancing, always eager to learn new things.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but chuckle. Yes, that sounded like his mother—always seeing wonders when other people saw the ordinary. She would often have a smile ready for whenever someone needed one. She was one of the most adventurous Tooks and although that alone was social suicide in the Shire, Bilbo was glad the elf lord view this trait as a positive one.

Is this what the lord wished to speak about? Bilbo had worried for nothing! He would never get tired of hearing tales about his mother’s adventures. He would raptly listen to whatever stories Lord Elrond wished to impart.

Bilbo would find out he assumed too soon.

The elf lord looked at him, something sympathetic and compassionate in his gaze. “I had hoped for you to grow up the same.”

The tone was in no way unkind. Still, Bilbo felt slightly insulted. He wasn’t at all bubbly like his mother but he loved poetry and new knowledge just the same. Surely that accounted for something? . . . Maybe not? If the Lord of Imaldris himself felt the hobbit lacking . . .

Lord Elrond continued, oblivious to Bilbo’s thoughts. “I assume, since you did not approach me immediately, that you do not wish for your companions to know about your condition.”

Bilbo blinked, bewildered. “I—uh, my condition?”

“Yes. Rest assured, Master Baggins. We have many healers of the mind and spirit residing here. Any of them would be glad to assist you,” the lord explained, directing an encouraging smile at the increasingly puzzled hobbit.

Bilbo knew he was missing something. “Um, I apologize, my lord, but you lost me quite a while ago.” He let out a nervous chuckle.

Lord Elrond’s eyes alight with realization. He caught Bilbo’s gaze and explained patiently, “Some elves are born with the ability to see through another’s heart. Lady Galadriel is the most talented in this art. Lindir’s is astounding too. Some of my men sensed little but they have the ability all the same.”

Bilbo inner scholar perked up at the information being given to him. A handy skill if Bilbo ever encountered one. To see through another’s soul? It must be amazing to know who to trust and who to be wary of at all times.

“Your spirit,” The lord’s brows pinched, something pained flashing in his eyes. “I knew of your condition the second I met you because your spirit is constantly calling out in agony.”

Bilbo opened and closed his mouth like a landed fish. He attempted to organize his thoughts, going over their conversation in his mind. His spirit was calling out? What did that mean?

Lord Elrond saw the unreserved confusion still in Bilbo’s expression and added, “Your spirit is similar to that of a Faded elf. A Faded’s soul is dead or dying and the body desires to follow after it.”

Bilbo froze like a caught deer at the words.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
> 
> All the Middle Earth facts in this chapter are from Lord of the Rings Wiki, except for the ones I invented because of creative liberties.
> 
> P.S. : Faded is usually the term to describe an elf who lost their One. Since elves only love once, losing their One is a big blow and they usually give up the will to live, thus, they’re fading. Some Faded elves can indeed be healed with some intervention from their friends/families.
> 
> Next up: Lord Elrond plans, Bilbo avoids, Thorin frowns, and there’s a map involved.
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcomed! Kindly point out any glaring errors!
> 
> Have a magnificent day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	17. (Suicidal) Homely House III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING/S: Implied depression, crack-is, little bit of suicidal thoughts/tendencies (though not as much as I’d like)
> 
> A/N: This will not actually match the ‘Next up’ in the previous chapter because for some reason, FILI AND KILI decided they should be in this chapter. Persistent dwarrows.
> 
> Actually, I saw the ‘elves have the ability to see through another’s heart’ in a Tumblr post ([this](http://nooby-banana.tumblr.com/post/93526046963/10followedfelagund-the-lord-of-the-rings)) and thought it was canon. O.o. More research tells me the ability was implied but not explicitly stated in any of Tolkien’s books. So, yay for canon-ish alignment!
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos (almost 800!!), comments, bookmarks, follows (300!!) and favorites! I’m glad you like the elves in the last chapter ^_^
> 
> Oracle10: Thank you for your insight! I actually half a mind to rewrite it (after and if I finish it, of course) because there were some minute details and scenes I’d like to insert in previous chapters (plus, some edits on my awkward sentencing). Your review would certainly be helpful!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: HOBBITS are not my property *sobs*
> 
> Enjoy~

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_Lord Elrond saw the unreserved confusion still in Bilbo’s expression and added, “Your spirit is similar to that of a Faded elf. A Faded’s soul is dead or dying and the body desires to follow after it.”_

_Bilbo froze like a caught deer at the words._

When he unfroze, the hobbit’s mouth parted with shock, finally comprehending what the lord was trying to say.

Well.

That appeared to be an accurate portrayal of his situation.

Is that why he had been feeling numb and empty? His spirit was dead? Oddly, Bilbo felt some relief at finally finding an explanation. He was never one for unsolved puzzles.

His first instinct was, of course, to deny it out loud as he always done with his smiles and disarming remarks. But upon further speculation, Bilbo understood that it was useless. Lord Elrond had said he had known since he first laid eyes on the hobbit. That’s also probably why Bilbo kept receiving these strange looks.

“Yes . . . I suppose that is one way of putting it,” Bilbo confessed, feeling discomfited.

He awkwardly fiddled with the straps of his cast. He had never before shared with another about the almost constant hollowness in his chest and it felt like he was imparting a great vulgar secret, leaving him vulnerable to the judgment of others.

The elf lord’s expression was kind as he sensed the other’s discomfort. “Many of our brothers and sisters experienced the same, Master Baggins, and some of them healed. You will have the best healers in the West at your disposal.”

“Heal—Are you saying that my-my condition can be cured?” His voice unconsciously rose with incredulity. For some reason, the idea alarmed him beyond measure.

For him, the only certain cure would be death. He attempted various activities in the past to ease the ache in his chest; he attended more parties, read more books, surrounded himself by fauntlings, and tended to his garden. Some methods left him feeling more out of place than ever while the rest only worked temporarily before the constant numbness came back tenfold.

Trying another method now would be setting himself up for more disappointment and more pain. He had left the Shire to find a more permanent solution, not one with a high risk of failure. He was a coward, he wouldn’t deny it, but he never felt more like one than in this moment.

“With time and no small amount effort on your part,” Lord Elrond answered, snapping the hobbit out of his maudlin contemplations. Something occurred to the elf lord then and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. Bilbo braced himself for it. “You did not come to Imladris in search of healing,” he said, tone more that of a statement than a question.

“I. . . I wasn’t informed we would even be passing Rivendell,” Bilbo admitted as much.

Lord Elrond’s eyes widened with astonishment. “I had thought . . . Then why do you accompany the dwarves? Hobbits are extremely fond of the comforts of home and in your condition, the comforts home should be where you stay if you’re not looking for a healer.”

If Lord Elrond actually thought Bilbo had come to his halls to heal, the hobbit sincerely doubted the elf would approve of the main reason why he joined the Company. The last thing he wanted was to let anyone know how selfish he had been. He swallowed audibly, running a hand through his curls and eyes darting everywhere as he searched for an appropriate excuse.

“Well—“

“Bilbo!”

Thank Yavanna. Bilbo barely suppressed a sigh of relief.

Gloin and Bofur came rounding down a corner. They paused momentarily and frowned when they saw their burglar’s company.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you, lad.” Gloin greeted, pointedly ignoring Lord Elrond. Bilbo had half a mind to scold them for it but he was too thankful for their timely arrival. “Oin needs to check your shoulder. He’s rewrapping the others’ wounds and told us to find you.”

“Oh! Alright,” Bilbo acceded a bit too enthusiastically. He put on a nervous smile, looking up at Lord Elrond. “Excuse me, my lord.”

For a brief frightening moment, Bilbo thought the lord would insist on continuing their talk. But the moment passed and Lord Elrond’s expression smoothed out into a blank aloof one. “Of course, Master Baggins. We will resume our discussion later,” was Lord Elrond’s subtle way of telling Bilbo that he would not be dropping this subject.

“Of course,” Bilbo replied feebly.

Both dwarrows glanced between the hobbit and the elf, probably sensing an important conversation had been interrupted. Lord Elrond nodded and left not long after.

“Well,” Bilbo turned to his companions, deciding to worry about his excuse later. “Lead the way.”

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Two figures unceremoniously dumped themselves on his either side.

In Bilbo’s surprise, he inhaled sharply on his pipe and consequently coughed loudly as the smoke went in the wrong way.

Fili and Kili giggled and took turns in slapping him in the back, which did not help at all.  Seeing the mischief in their faces, Bilbo recognized they didn’t do it to help.

“B-Boys, st-stop!” Bilbo managed to get out while his lungs tried to choke on themselves.

The young dwarrows giggled once more but thankfully ceased their ministrations. After a while, the hobbit’s breathing evened out and he sighed in relief.

The dwarrows were offered lavish rooms with real beds and its own bathrooms. In true dwarven fashion, they rudely refused and congregated in a spacious hall designated for celebrations. It wasn’t quite bad, seeing as they had their bedrolls and the chambers had open balconies that let the summer breeze in.

Oin was, like the hobbit himself, smoking his pipe and relaxing. Bombur and Bofur were cooking lamb pulled out from their rations because the others complained about the lack of meat in their dinner. Bifur was gesticulating widely with some story or another. Dori was rebraiding Nori's intricate braids, who kept squirming and looking embarrassed. Holding onto a journal, Ori appeared focused on sketching something on its pages. Dwalin and Gloin were sharpening their respective axes, expert hands running over whetstones.

The hobbit didn't know where Thorin, Balin or Gandalf went to. Two of the former were probably insulting elves while the latter would be busy confusing some poor lad or lass with riddles.

“Sorry about that, Bilbo.” Fili grinned and didn’t sound apologetic at all.

Bilbo lifted a disbelieving brow, silently saying what he thought about that, before carefully snuffling on his pipe once more.

“How’s your arm?” Kili patted the casted limb with a gentleness unlike that of a dwarrow’s

The dwarf appeared interested in the answer so the hobbit said, “Master Oin assured me that it’s healing well. Thanks to Gandalf’s magic, I’ll probably be able to use my arm within the week.” While initially irritated at the wizard meddling, Bilbo now realized that he would have been in a lot more pain had Gandalf not sped up the healing processs.

“Great!” Kili exclaimed, beaming.

“We can start training you soon then.” Fili added, nodding resolutely.

“Training? For what?” Bilbo felt unsettled by the possible reply to his questions.

“To use that letter opener of yours, of course!” Kili nudged the weapon currently strapped around the hobbit’s waist, tone belying that it should have been obvious.

Bilbo’s eyes widened. “Wha—But—I thought you were jesting!”

“We never jest about sword training, Bilbo,” Fili said, sniffing.

“Not to worry.” Kili’s grin confirmed there was a lot to worry about. The dwarf dropped a heavy arm around the hobbit’s shoulders, most of the weight on his uninjured side. “We’ll go easy on you.”

Bilbo was not sure he even wanted to learn how to properly use his sword. He might unconsciously save himself when he didn’t want to.

Fili bumped shoulders with the hobbit. “We’ll start as soon as your arm is healed. We don’t want you defenseless out there, Bilbo!”

Actually, Bilbo _did_ want to be defenseless out there but he thought it best to keep this to himself. He didn't even know why it mattered to them . . .

His brows furrowed, an impossible thought crossing his mind. “Do you . . . actually _care_ about what happens to me?”

Fili and Kili blinked rapidly before trading confused glances.

“Of course we do,” Kili replied, wondering why such a question should even be posed. “You’re part of the Company!”

Fili frowned. “Have—Have we given any indication that we don’t?”

Kili’s eyes widened and he hastily added, “Whatever it is that made you think otherwise, Bilbo, I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”

Bilbo stilled, going over their answers. “You do know that, whe— _if_ I should perish, Mister Nori can a replace me, right? He is a burglar himself.” He said, assuring them.

Fili and Kili gaped, looking at Bilbo like his ears suddenly became rounded. The hobbit covertly checked with one hand. Still pointed, Bilbo was glad to find out.

The older of the two dwarrows spoke “You . . . You think we only want you alive because you’re to be our burglar?” with such incredulity that his voice rose a pitch higher.

“Well . . .” Bilbo trailed off and promptly inhaled on his pipe as a delaying tactic. After a few seconds, he puffed out a cloud of smoke. “Is-Is there any other reason—“

“Of course there is!” Kili cut off, a tinge of anger and no small amount of befuddlement in his expression as he drew his arm back from the hobbit’s shoulders.

Fili shifted so he could properly face the hobbit. “You’ve fed us, took care of the weapons we entrusted you, gave us your first name, made sure we’re comfortable in _your_ home. You risked your life to save us from the trolls and defended our foolishness to our uncle.”

“Which was brave of you, by the way, matching up to his awful glare,” Kili put his two coins in.

Fili paused for a breath, meeting Bilbo’s eyes with doubt swimming in his gaze. “We gave you our first names. We’ve even pranked you a few times, which you surprisingly took with good grace. We . . . We’d like to think we’ve become friends, Bilbo.”

“And as a friend, we’d rather not see you come to any harm,” Kili added, just as uncertain as his brother.

They had thought _that_ but now, with Bilbo’s question, they were not quite sure where they stood with the hobbit.

Bilbo glanced between the earnest faces of the boys, mouth parted with shock. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, struggling to find an appropriate response.

 _Friends_ —He held the boys in high esteem, especially since they had been nothing but kind to him (barring, of course, a few harmless pranks). The hobbit spent much more of his time with them than any other in the Company. He had come to care for them but didn’t even entertain the thought that the boys view him the same. Bilbo had been content to simply chat with them, to take what they could give to him.

But now, they told him that they cared for Bilbo as much as the hobbit cared for them.

“Yes, I-I suppose we are. Friends, that is,” Bilbo said, more to himself than the boys. The realization sent a shot of warmth through his whole being and he felt his lips curl up in a genuine smile. “I apologize if I made you doubt so. It’s just . . .” The hobbit’s eyes went to the ground. “It had been a long time since—since I’ve made any friends and I quite forgot how to do so.” He chuckled, ruefully shaking his head.

Fili and Kili exchanged meaningful glances, both remembering the large but empty smial, the glares of Bilbo’s neighbors as they went outside, the female lass who accosted their hobbit, and the fact that not one hobbit had sent Bilbo off when they left.

“Well,” Kili replaced an arm around the hobbit’s shoulders. “You have us now!”

Fili nudged Bilbo. “We’re shield-brothers. We’ll protect you in any way possible just as you have proven you’ll do to us.”

Oh.

Guilt hit Bilbo that very moment as the implications sunk in. He had made friends and these friends obviously concerned themselves about what could happen to him. Earlier, the boys even said they’d rather not see the hobbit hurt. Mayhaps then . . . just as Bilbo would be saddened if they came to harm, they too would feel the same about the hobbit’s planned death.

_Oh, what have I done?_

Bilbo should have kept his distance from everyone in the Company. He had wanted to get along with some of them but only now was he realizing that perhaps it wasn’t the best course of action. It was too late—Fili and Kili had declared themselves friends to one Bilbo Baggins.

His attachment to the boys and the need to keep them happy warred with his desire for the blissful nothingness death would bring.

What was one suicidal hobbit to do?

“Bilbo?” Fili’s concerned call snapped him out of his contemplations. “What’s wrong?”

The hobbit smiled, half-forced and half-sincere. “N-Nothing. I—just—thank you both. I’m glad to have your friendship. I will value it. Truly.”

Fili and Kili grinned. “You better!” they said at the same time.

“Supper’s ready!” Bombur called out, earning the immediate attention of the Company. “This time, full of meat,” He added proudly.

Cheers and stomps echoed in the spacious chamber as the dwarrows clambered towards the dinner their cook prepared.

The young dwarrows beside Bilbo got to their feet. “Come, Bilbo!”

The hobbit couldn’t help but be amused at their enthusiasm. “If you remember, I ate quite enough.”

“Oh, yeah, those _greens_ ,” Fili said with a repulsive emphasis on ‘greens’. Kili wrinkled his nose.

“Go on now. Before the others finish it all.” Bilbo can still recall how the dwarrows quickly finished the feast he prepared that was fit for twelve hobbit meals. Thorin almost didn’t get a chance to eat!

That was all the encouragement the young Durins needed. They waved at Bilbo before running towards the crowd of hungry dwarrows.

Bilbo smiled at them before letting his gaze wander in one of the balconies; the sun was setting, bathing the whole valley in a golden light. The summer wind caressed the tree leaves before tickling Bilbo’s cheeks.

Puffing on his pipe, the hobbit was left to his conflicting thoughts.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
> 
> Belated congratulations on Martin Freeman (Captain America: Civil War) for being sucked in the Marvel fandom! Wohoo. So, we have Richard Armitage, Hugo Weaving (both in Captain America: First Avengers), Ian Mckellen (X-Men, duh), Benedict Cumberbatch (Dr. Strange), Evangeline Lilly (Antman), and Lee Pace (Guardians of the Galaxy). Who else? (why yes, I am in the Marvel fandom)
> 
> Next up: Lord Elrond plans, Bilbo avoids, Thorin frowns, and there’s a map involved. (yes, this time, that is what you can expect)
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcomed! Kindly point out any glaring errors!
> 
> Have a lovely day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	18. (Suicidal) Place of Rest I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING/S: Implied depression, crack-ish, little bit of suicidal thoughts/tendencies (though not as much as I’d like)
> 
> A/N: Changed the timeline with this bit but all would explained! Also, a bit of a short chapter because there was no other way to end it.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments, favorites, follows, kudos and bookmarks! I will bring them with me through dark times! (which is coming soon because back to school!)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: HOBBITS are not my property *sobs*
> 
> Enjoy~

❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤

“Halfling.”

Both Bombur and Bilbo looked up, breaking off from their conversation. When Bombur approached the hobbit bearing lamb, the cook insisted that Bilbo eat a bit of meat. They got into a long debate on whether vegetables could be a filling meal, which led to Bombur accidentally slipping out that he actually liked salads. The discussion then swerved to the preferred foodstuff of the other dwarrows in the Company—the conversation Thorin cut short.

“I am not half of anything, Master Oakenshield,” Bilbo said coolly, finally having the opportunity to correct him.

Bombur excused himself, stating he had to clean up, and left him alone with their leader. Bilbo shot the cook a betrayed look to which Bombur had given an apologetic shrug.

He inhaled on his pipe in hopes of discouraging the dwarf for further discussion. Nothing ever good came out whenever he conversed with Thorin. The dwarf had been nothing short of insufferable. For some reason, when faced with Thorin, his Baggins’ side disappeared completely, leaving a cheeky and somewhat rude Took behind.

The permanent scowl on Thorin’s face deepened. “Come. We have a meeting with the elf lord.” The words sounded like they were being dragged out of his mouth.

Bilbo blinked. Then, he let his gaze ventured around. The hobbit caught Balin standing ways off, not even attempting to hide the fact that he was watching them.

Bilbo puffed out clouds of smoke. “Why does Balin want me to come with?”

Thorin snorted indelicately. “Balin does not. Lord Elrond seems to favor you and Tharkûn—Gandalf—thinks you will be a good mediator.” The dwarf thought otherwise, if one would go by his expression. “Though I do not know what that _elf_ could wish to discuss with me.”

After their talk in the balcony, the notion of being in the same room with Lord Elrond truly vexed Bilbo. However, if Balin and Thorin would be present, he guessed Lord Elrond would be reluctant to continue their earlier conversation—as the lord assumed, he did wish to keep the entire matter private. He only hoped the lord wouldn’t say anything incriminating.

“Alright.” He tapped out his pipe on a nearby potted plant, buried the ash to smother any embers, and placed the pipe inside his pack.

As soon as Bilbo turned, Thorin huffed and stalked away. Balin gave one of his reassuring-mixed-with-apologetic smiles before following the dwarven king.

Bilbo wriggled his nose in irritation but jogged to catch up to them.

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“Our business is no concern of _elves_ ,” Thorin practically growled out.

“For goodness’ sake, Thorin. Show him the map!” Gandalf commanded in return, incensed.

Bilbo tried not to look out of place. Map? The one Gandalf had pulled out in Bag End? The one that leads to Erebor? Why would they need to show it to Lord Elrond? He barely listened to the details of the quest so it’s no surprise he hadn’t the slightest clue as to what Thorin was referring. He thought it wise not to inform them of this.

“It is the legacy of my people,” Thorin said with a raging calmness. “It is mine to protect, as are its secrets.”

Balin kept pacing behind the dwarven king, nodding in agreement. Lord Elrond patiently watched the scene, seemingly content to let Gandalf handle the issue. Except for a gentle smile and a nod, the elf lord didn’t acknowledge Bilbo further—which the hobbit was grateful for.

“Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves.” If the wizard was any less sophisticated, he would be throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. “Your pride will be your downfall. You stand in the presence of one of the few in Middle-Earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond.”

Ah. So the map was written in a language even the dwarrows couldn’t understand. The hobbit pretended he’d known this all along. In Thorin’s defense, dwarrows grew up to be a secretive race; it must be difficult to go against your nature.

The aforementioned lord lifted a brow. Bilbo’s eyes flickered between the determined expression on Thorin face and the curious one on Lord Elrond’s. Surprisingly, Balin, who Bilbo deigned sensible, merely agreed with Thorin’s irrational decision.

Well, the hobbit was brought to this meeting for a reason. “Be reasonable, Master Oakenshield.” Said dwarf sharply turned to Bilbo, eyes dark. The hobbit merely tilted his head. “Lord Elrond has fed us and given us shelter. What ill can come from presenting him the map and letting him help?”

Gandalf and Lord Elrond looked approving while Balin appeared the opposite. Thorin shot Bilbo a measuring look, which the hobbit challenged with a lift of his brow. Bilbo could see the exact moment Thorin relented.

The dwarf reached into his coat and pulled out a worn parchment. Balin sighed but did nothing to discourage him.

The elf lord accepted the map with good grace and unfolded it. “Erebor,” he breathed out. His eyes narrowed and everyone else tensed, including Bilbo. Still, the elf lord only sounded curious as he asked, “What is your interest in this map?”

“It’s mainly academic,” Gandalf assured just as Thorin opened his mouth to answer. “As you know, this sort of artifact sometimes contains hidden text.”

Gandalf and Thorin had a silent conversation consisting of pointed looks and pursed lips. It left Thorin looking oddly defeated.

To the elf lord, Gandalf inquired, “You still read ancient dwarvish, do you not?”

Lord Elrond paced the length of the room, inspecting the map with keen eyes. He paused, bathing in the ethereal light of the moon. A hint of silver glimmered in the lower half of the map and he murmured something in Sindarin.

“Moon runes,” Gandalf translated, wonder present in his tone. He smiled. “Of course.” The wizard expected no less from a reticent race. He caught Bilbo’s confused look and said, “An easy thing to miss,” which explained nothing at all.

Fortunately, Lord Elrond was more forthcoming. “Moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon of the same shape and season as the day on which they were written.”

Truly? That sounded akin to magic, Blibo thought with amazement. Although the hobbit questioned the logic of such a thing, he was very impressed by the measures dwarrows took to keep their secrets, well, a secret.

Thorin either knew of moon runes or was simply disinterested to learn about it because all he asked was, “Can you read them?”

For half a second, Bilbo felt that Lord Elrond’s eyes were on him. But when he looked up to confirm, the lord’s gaze was solely on the map on his hands.

The expression on the elf lord’s face can be described as contemplative with a hint of calculating. His brows creased with concentration. Bilbo worried as the seconds ticked by with no answer to Thorin’s query and he could see that he wasn’t the only one. From what he knew of Lord Elrond, the hobbit thought he would be willing to help them . . . Or maybe the lord can’t read them after all and was looking for the words to tell them?

Then, Lord Elrond’s face cleared into a peculiarly determined expression. He replied with a calm voice, “I can. These runes,” His finger flitted to a corner of the map. “were written on a Midsummer’s eve by the light of the crescent moon nearly two hundred years ago.” He paused for a breath, meeting Thorin’s gaze. “Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield, for the same moon will shine upon us tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow?” Balin frowned, the idea of spending another day in Rivendell sounding distasteful. He was certain the other dwarrows would feel the same. Alas, there was nothing they could do.

“Are you quite sure?” Gandalf asked, leaning on his staff as he shot the lord a scrutinizing look.

“Yes.” Lord Elrond handed the map back to Thorin without further prompting. He steadily met Gandalf’s inquisitive stare. “We shall reconvene tomorrow night.”

After a rather long staring contest between the wizard and the elf lord, Gandalf said, “Very well. Thank you, Lord Elrond.”

“Aye. We are grateful,” Thorin followed with gritted teeth. He, along with Balin and Gandalf, was already heading for the exit.

Bilbo wriggled his nose and decided to add, “We are thankful for your hospitality and any help you may give us, Lord Elrond.”

The said lord gave Bilbo a fond look. “You are most welcome.” He turned to the exiled dwarf king and said not unkindly, “I was informed that your men refused the accommodations we offered. Would it not be better, especially for your injured, if they rest on real beds?”

Thorin halted his steps, bristling. His blue eyes glanced briefly at the halfling’s slung arm. He had no delusion that the lord was referring to anyone else. It was clear that the elf greatly favored their burglar. And the idea did have some merit.

He gave a curt nod. “I shall see to it that my Company take you up on your offer.” Without further ado, he stalked away.

Balin was right on Thorin’s heels. Gandalf muttered something about hardheadedness but followed. Bilbo hurried after them, realizing that he would be alone with—

“Master Baggins.” Said hobbit’s eyes briefly fluttered close in consternation before he turned around to face Lord Elrond. It would be rude to ignore the lord after all, no matter how much Bilbo wanted to run away.

The lord stepped towards him and Bilbo stamped down the urge to step back. “If we might continue—“

“Bilbo.” Balin’s head popped out of the archway that was the exit. His eyes narrowed at the two occupants of the room before he plastered on a genial smile. Addressing Lord Elrond, he pointedly said, “It has been a hectic few days. I’m sure Master Baggins would like to turn in early.”

The lord only hesitated for a beat, giving Bilbo a once-over, before nodding. “Of course.”

Even though the hobbit dreaded another discussion, his good manners forced him to offer a “We shall talk in the morn then, Lord Elrond.” Perhaps by then, Bilbo would have thought of a good enough excuse.

“I look forward to it.” The elf lord dipped his to the side.

Bilbo sent him a small smile before turning on his heel before practically fleeing the scene. Balin shot the hobbit a questioning yet amused look before falling in step with him.

Avoiding his own childhood idol. Bilbo wondered when this had become his life.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
> 
> P.S. : So, Lord Elrond tells us that ‘moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon of the same shape and season as the day on which they were written’. The moon actually retains its shape for two-three days before changing. Like if it’s a new moon today, it’ll be a new moon for a few days before it turns into a crescent moon. So, the map can be read that night but for some reason, Lord Elrond decides to read it the next night.
> 
> P.P.S. : I’m changing the time of the White Council meeting because I’m including that deleted fountain scene (*giggles*) and it can only make sense if the dwarves stayed in Rivendell for more than one night. Remember, the dwarves arrived during supper time so they couldn’t have time to find and bathe in a fountain at night.
> 
> Next up: The Company sleeps, Bilbo has a crisis, and a dwarf helps him through it.
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcomed! Kindly point out any glaring errors!
> 
> Have a lovely day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	19. (Suicidal) Place of Rest II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING/S: Implied depression, crack-ish, symptom of depression, ANGST, butchering of Khuzdul
> 
> A/N: Ugh, I am not at all happy with this chapter. I don’t even know why. Something just feels off . . . And look out, guys! My muse is fading and updates might be slow again (or perhaps never??? O.o). Sorry :( . I just can’t write properly if it’s only halfhearted.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments, favorites, follows, kudos (850 plus!!) and bookmarks! I will bring them with me through dark times! (which is coming soon because back to school!)
> 
> ALSO, Polish translation has been started by [Larrehmylovex](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/6833392/) in [here](http://aph-pirate-spain.tumblr.com/post/121116152500/the-hobbit-a-suicidal-journey-tlumaczenie)!  
> DISCLAIMER: HOBBITS are not my property *sobs*  
> Enjoy~

❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤

True to his word, Thorin ordered the Company to accept the elves’ hospitality. The dwarrows went, albeit with a few complains here and there. Bilbo knew it was all for show—Eru forbid they show some gratitude—because the Company certainly appreciated the comforts Bag End offered.

The rooms offered were more than enough for them to get a chamber each. However, because of the suspicious nature of dwarrows, they all agreed that it was wise not to be alone while they had elves in their midst. They segregated themselves according to kin; Bilbo realized then that the Company consisted of families. Bombur and Bofur were actually brothers and Bifur was their cousin. Oin was the older sibling of Gloin, which explained why the latter wasn’t offended whenever the former removed his ear trumpet amidst Gloin’s storytelling.

“We could join you,” Fili and Kili offered when everyone realized their burglar, seeing as he had no kin in this quest, would sleep alone.

“What about your uncle?” Bilbo reasoned, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine. Unlike you lot, I don’t distrust elves as much.”

“Doesn’t mean they can be trusted,” Dwalin gruffed out.

“What would they want with a hobbit like me?” Bilbo retorted, gesturing to himself.

With that, he finally made the Company see sense. The lord of Rivendell even appeared to favor their burglar; they doubted the elf would let him come to any harm. They bade each other a good night before retiring to their respective rooms.

When Bilbo entered his assigned chambers, a tub of water, still steaming, sat near the bathroom. Bilbo grinned as he saw the scented oils lining a small table beside the bathtub, along with washcloths and towels. Why, a proper bath! He couldn’t remember the last time he had one.

He gingerly dropped his pack by the door, carefully removed his sling, quickly shed his clothes and fully immersed himself in elven hospitality. He poured a liberal amount of oil into the tub and swirled it around until white soapy bubbles formed.

After washing in frigid waters throughout the journey, a warm bath was Eru-sent. Settling in, he leaned his head back and let the fragrance of roses in spring envelop him. He gladly scrubbed and scrubbed away the dirt of the road from his skin, humming a random tune. With only one functioning arm and the instruction of Oin not to get his bandages wet, it was quite difficult.

When Bilbo finished, the water was a light brown and icy cold.

He contemplated washing his road-trodden clothes on the remaining water. But when he caught the fabric folded at the foot of the bed, he decided to delay it on the morrow. The fabric was a matching white tunic and pajamas made from the softest of material –that which he suspected was silk. He dried himself and tried them on. It was loose around the shoulders and reached way past his ankles but they were extremely snug.

The hobbit sighed in contentment.

The cordiality of elves truly knew no bounds.

Bilbo blew out all the candles before climbing on the large bed that could fit four grown hobbits. Bilbo took time to appreciate the softness of the cushion and the smoothness of the bedsheets. Definitely better than a bedroll. Bilbo was infinitely grateful Thorin forced the others to accept the accommodations.

They had been awake for two days now and Bilbo’s body was practically shutting down. Exhaustion seeped right into his very bones, making him feel like he was melting through the sheets and into the floor.

The hobbit spared a thought to wonder whether the dwarrows was as relaxed as he was now. Probably not, seeing as they thought they were at the enemy’s camp.

Then, the hobbit closed his eyes and let slumber take him.

.

.

.

Bilbo turned to his side, dragging the covers over his shoulder. After a several quiet minutes, he shifted to his either side. He stopped midway, wincing, when he realized he just put weight on his injured shoulder.

He squeezed his eyes shut but to no avail; sleep continued to elude him.

He tossed and turned a few more times. Every position was comfortable enough but his mind refuses to fall into the abyss of sleep. He let out a sound of frustration as each attempt failed to yield any result. His body was still fatigued beyond belief but his head was as alert as ever. It refused to power down and continued on whirring away.

He huffed, laying on his back. Perhaps he can tire out his mind by creating some riddles. He let his eyes wander around the room, looking for an inspiration.

His eyes, of course, first went up. The ceiling curved into a dome, creating an illusion of spaciousness. There was something glittering in its design, like starlight in the night sky. Bilbo realized that not once in the journey had he took time to look up in the heavens and appreciate the stars. Every moment of the journey was tiring, from riding the ponies to working up the energy to converse with his companions. He instantly fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He regretted it now. He should have liked to know if the constellations in the places they’ve been were the same as the ones he observed in the Shire. His father used to tell him the stars could be traced like the maps of Middle Earth. Each path had a significant story to tell and his father would tell them over and over again until he grew too old for such. His mother would then teased his father about having Took blood in him for narrating tales with wanderlust in his voice. His father would sulk and say some unconvincing excuses about Baggins’ duty to his only son. Bilbo could only laughed it all now.

In passing by cliff sides and forest paths, could Bilbo have discovered new paths, new stars? The hobbit promised himself to look as soon as their journey resumed.

For now, he contented himself with the imitation of the stars on the ceiling. He resisted the urge to lift an arm up with a delusion of reaching them, and barely succeeded.

 _And I watch the summer stars to lead me home,_ the echo of his father’s voice resounded in his head. _Home_ , his father had said, enthralled eyes turning towards the kitchen where his mother was preparing dinner. And his gaze went back to Bilbo and his eyes crinkled with delight and love. _Home._

Bilbo only realized he was crying when something wet trickled down his face. A sob built up in his throat and with years of practice, he forcefully swallowed it down. He sighed internally.

It was going to be one of those nights.

He curled in on himself, covering his whole body with the sheets. With his tears, the cold deep void in his chest strengthened and spread. It creeped through his stomach, and coursed through his veins with icy speed. He didn’t know how his chest could feel so hollow yet ache with a fierceness that left him breathless. Tears burned beneath his closed lids, escaped the corners of his eyes, and rolled down his temples.

His whole body trembled with silent sobs. Mixed emotions shot through his being—anger, melancholy, desperation, Eru knew what. His injured shoulder protested at each movement but the hobbit could do nothing to stop it. He never could. He just needed to ride it out, let the urge to cry pass, and hope it pass very soon.

He tried to uncurl his frame, even just a little, so that he could breathe easier. A wail escaped his lips, the sound broken and utterly pathetic. Bilbo reddened with shame even as he covered his mouth with both hands to prevent more sounds from coming out.

At the very least, after this, Bilbo would be so emotionally tired that’ll he would probably be able to sleep.

The doorknob creaked and turned, the sound drowned by the hobbit’s cries. Bilbo _did_ notice when someone spoke, the voice sounding far too close.

The surprise robbed the hobbit of a breath for another sob. He slowly pulled down the covers, too tired to actually do anything swiftly, to see a dwarf he never expected to see.

Bifur stood uncertainly right beside the bed, looking wide-eyed at Bilbo. The dwarf carefully propped his war axe, which he had been holding aloft, on the nightstand. Bilbo blinked at him, consequently making the tears in his eyes stream down his cheeks. He flushed and furiously scrubbed away at his eyes and nose. In face of sudden company, his tears momentarily gave him the reprieve he longed for.

Bilbo sat up, hands continuously wiping at his face in an excuse to hide his humiliation. “Mi-Mi-Mister Bifur, what are-are you doing in my r-room?” he asked, not even having the energy to muster an accusing tone. His voice was hoarse and rough and Bilbo wished to speak no more.

He felt the bed dipped and hands enclosed the hobbit’s wrist in a firm grip. Gently, Bifur moved Bilbo’s hands away, revealing a blotchy face crumpled with sorrow. The dwarf looked at him with concern, forcing the hobbit’s injured limb down on his lap. Bilbo didn’t even notice it was paining him, the arm being raised like that.

The dwarf murmured something and as always, it was in a secret dwarven language. Broad fingers ran through the hobbit’s curls in a soothing gesture.

Before he could help it, Bilbo flinched away. Bifur retracted his arm, observing the hobbit and making not a single move.

“I’m-I’m alright, truly,” The hobbit said, anything to get the dwarf to leave. He didn’t want anyone seeing him in this wretched state. “I-I just . . . Everything’s fine, Mister Bifur. It’s just—Did-Did you need something?” Perhaps if the dwarf got what he wanted, he would leave Bilbo alone to pity himself in peace.

Bifur vehemently shook his head. Then, he gestured a hand towards the hobbit, brows furrowed with something akin to apprehension. Bilbo continued to be nonplussed for a few seconds before he comprehended what the dwarf meant.

He wiped at his eyes once more with his good arm. “I’m fine, Mister Bifur. Ma-Mayhaps a bit homesick, is all,” he half-lied, attempting a smile.

Bifur nodded with understanding, saying, “ _Ammâ_ _mazarrali azhâr, bahith._ ”

Bilbo blinked rapidly, a notion occurring to him just now. “You know Westron but can you not speak it?”

Bifur chuckled ruefully, shaking his head, and gestured at the axe embedded in the right side of his forehead. “ _Mag 'ala_ ”

Caught by the movement, the hobbit couldn’t help but stare at the rather traumatizing battle wound. It was but a small axe, barely the size of Bilbo’s palm if one was to include the handle, but the blade end buried itself an inch deep into the skin.

Bilbo tore his gaze away, recognizing he was being rude. “Because of your head wound?” the hobbit interpreted. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t imagine . . .” How strong Bifur must be, not only choosing to muddle through the pain of such injury but also finding a way to cope with its consequences.

The dwarf waved a flippant hand as if the matter wasn’t such a big deal. _It’s all in the past_ , the smile he gave Bilbo seemed to say. He was utterly nonchalant about the whole thing. Bilbo couldn’t imagine being able to smile so earnestly about if he had been the victim of such, even if it had happen a long time ago.

The hobbit felt so worthless and untried in the wake of such a revelation. Who was he to cry about homesickness when the dwarf in front of him had his home stolen from him? He craved the bliss of death even after living a cozy life with no threats and dangers. How selfish and cowardly could he get?

The hobbit’s gaze dropped down to his lap, feeling his eyes prickling once more. Bifur placed two fingers under the hobbit’s chin and forced him to lift his head.

The dwarf tutted at him. He looked contemplative for a moment before his eyes lit up with an idea. He got off the bed and onto his feet in one graceful move. Grabbing his axe, Bifur said, “ _Ingit_ ” joined by a beckoning wave of his free hand.

Bilbo merely blinked bewilderingly up at him so Bifur proceeded to grab his hand (the uninjured side, of course) and pulled a bit too roughly. The hobbit sputtered as he was forced to stumble off the bed by the dwarf’s strength.

After getting his feet under him, Bilbo frowned confusedly. “Mister Bifur, what—“ He was cut off as the dwarf abruptly strode away and consequently, dragged the hobbit with him.

Bilbo let out a resigned sigh as he was hauled out of his room. He simply didn’t have the energy to resist. A haze settled over Bilbo and they could have been walking for hours, for days or even years. Now that he had stopped crying, his earlier exhaustion caught up to him with ferocious vengeance, blurring his senses and dulling his mind. Suddenly, all he wanted was to sink into the earth and never rise again. Wait . . . Wasn’t that what he was trying to do through the whole journey?

Bifur entered a room without so much as a knock, slapping the hobbit away from his thoughts.

“Bifur! Took ye long . . .” Bofur trailed off as he noticed that his cousin had a hobbit in tow. “Master Baggins?”

On the bed, Bombur snorted before his snores filled the entire room once more.

Bilbo yawned before blinking slowly at the dwarf. Why was he in this room again? “Good evening, Mister Bofur.”

Bifur interjected with sharp guttural words that had Bofur giving the hobbit an undecipherable look. Bilbo glanced tiredly between them, and could only hope he wasn’t being subjected to a jest.

Then, the hatted dwarf grinned. “Of course. Come along now, Master Baggins.”

“Wha-? Where?”

The hobbit could do nothing but watch uncomprehendingly as he was maneuvered onto the sole bed in the room, partly because he was too tired to resist and partly because he may not have been averse to the touch as he initially thought.

Bifur unceremoniously pushed the slumbering Bombur off to one side, which surprisingly did not even make the said dwarf stir. Before he knew it, Bilbo found himself placed under the covers and between Bofur and Bifur. The bed was fortunately large enough to comfortably fit the four of them.

Once again, the hobbit blinked sluggishly at the dwarf beside him, who happened to be Bofur. “Good evening, Mister Bofur.” Hadn’t he said that already? He tried to curb his yawn—it would be awfully rude to the dwarf—but was thoroughly unsuccessful.

The dwarf, who still had his flappy funny hat even in bed, merely chuckled. He patted Bilbo’s curls and, without his mind’s explicit permission, he leaned in to the touch.

“Sleep, Master Baggins. Things will be better in the morn.”

The hobbit nodded, consoled by the confidence of the voice. “Alright,” he murmured, eyelids fluttering close.

He buried his face into the heat in front of him, smelling cooking oil and burning wood. He felt a hand rubbed circles on his back and he sighed in relief. The ice in his veins receded as if chased away by the warmth of . . . what was it again? Bilbo couldn’t quite remember. The void didn’t disappear completely—Bilbo doubted it ever had—but it bearably transformed into a soft pulsing ache inside his ribcage.

With that, the hobbit slipped into peaceful slumber.

❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
> 
> KHUZDUL TRANSLATION:  
> Ammâ mazarrali azhâr, bahith – We all miss home, little friend  
> Mag 'ala – Since this (this being Bifur’s wound)  
> Ingit - Come
> 
> Source is The Dwarrow Scholar
> 
> P.S.: Being gripped with the urge to cry, usually at night, is not exclusively for depressed people. Sometimes, it can be caused by hormones, adrenaline and other body factors (Bilbo did have a stressful few days which just piled up). Still, it is a prevalent symptom of depression.
> 
> Next up (if ever I update): Dwarrows discuss, Lord Elrond contemplates, and also, a fountain!
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcomed! Kindly point out any glaring errors!
> 
> Have a lovely day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	20. (Suicidal) Place of Rest III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING/S: Implied depression, crack-ish symptom of depression, butchering of Khuzdul
> 
> A/N: Whoa, I updated! I seriously did not think I could write more of this. But surprisingly, Shia LaBeouf’s inspirational video (Thanks, carcineko!) and the inspirations you guys sent my way motivated me and I caught my running muse! Unfortunately, the fountain scene is delayed to the next chapter because of, again, Fili and Kili.
> 
> Also, I reread this whole thing and realized that whoa, the latest chapters are getting half-serious. Well, unfortunately, more half-serious chapters are coming (mixed with FLUFF I will attempt to write) but the crack-ish ones would follow right after.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments, favorites, follows, kudos (900 plus!!) and bookmarks! I will bring them with me through dark times! (which is now because of a frustrating homework I can’t seem to do =_=)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: HOBBITS are not my property *sobs*
> 
> “Blah” = said in Khuzdul
> 
> Enjoy~

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Oin had, since the start of the journey, brewed a concoction that greatly reduced Bifur’s constant headache—the ache that started ever since he got an axe on his head as an accessory. He was on his way back to the chambers he shared with Bofur and Bombur when he heard a muffled dismayed cry in one of the rooms assigned to the Company.

Initially, he thought members of the Company were being attacked and reacted appropriately. He quietly sneaked into the chambers, axe raised, and hoped the element of surprise was on his side. After looking around the dark room, he saw that there were no obvious threats to be found. In fact, the only movement seemed to come from the small shaking figure on the bed.

Bifur had gingerly edged towards it, concluding that this must be Master Baggins’ room since there was only one occupant.

The lump on the bed quivered incessantly like leaves in a storm. Bifur thought Master Baggins was cold and proceeded to look around the room for an extra blanket.

He froze when he heard a loud sniffle followed by a subdued sob.

Crying. Master Baggins was crying.

Fiddling with the handle of his axe, he had contemplated on what to do. He had been in plenty of battles and had consoled a fair share of his comrades. The one thing he learned was that people found comfort in different things. Bofur, for example, wanted no words but a lot of hugs and soothing gestures. Bombur was the opposite; he preferred to talk and for someone to just listen.

Bifur didn’t know Master Baggins well enough to see which category he fell into. But it would be shameful to leave a member of the Company on his own in this state, even one he wasn’t particularly close to. He decided to risk it.

Tentatively, softly, he called out, “ _Master_ Baggins _?”_ in Khuzdul because he could speak nothing else since the incident.

The hobbit confided in him about his homesickness and Bifur sought to reassure him. It came as no surprise that Master Baggins felt homesick; the halls of Rivendell must have reminded him of his peaceful Shire and comfortable home. The fact that he was all alone in his chamber probably contributed to it. And so, Bifur did the only thing to do; he brought the hobbit to quarters he shared with his cousins.

 _“Crying, ye say?”_ Bofur murmured after Master Baggins had fallen asleep.

“ _Aye,_ ” Bifur answered, adjusting his position on the bed and getting ready to sleep himself. “ _Told me he was homesick.”_ Bifur paused before adding, _“Though I feel these last few days have also caught up to him.”_

Bofur frowned at that. “ _It is good ye’ve brought him here. He shouldn’t have been alone. Perhaps we should ‘ave insisted the boys join him._ ”

Bifur snorted. “ _Thorin wouldn’t agree to it anyway. He is irritated enough at his sister-sons’ friendship with our burglar.”_

The hatted dwarf cocked a brow, expression amused. “ _I don’t think ‘irritated’ is the correct word for it_.”

The toymaker’s brows furrowed with confusion for a second before his eyes bulged out. “ _What.”_

“ _I’m not implyin’ anything untoward,”_ Bofur amended, not wanting to spread half-truths. _“We all know Thorin is hostile towards outsiders. And yes, at first glance, our burglar seemed a bit too soft for the job. However, Master Baggins had already proven himself worthy when he saved us from the trolls. Don’t ye think it odd that Thorin’s aggressiveness towards our burglar didn’t ease one bit?”_

Bifur wore a doubtful expression as he said, “ _Are you saying our leader is acting like a dwarfling and pulling the hobbit’s figurative braids?”_

Bofur shrugged, grinning. “ _If the crown fits.”_

The other dwarf shook his head. “ _That’s ridiculous. **You’re** ridiculous. I knew you were a hopeless romantic but I didn’t know you stooped so low as to make imaginary crushes between the members of the Company.”_

Bofur punched Bifur’s shoulder and the toymaker merely laughed. The hatted dwarf sniffed indignantly. “ _I resent that._ ”

Master Baggins stirred and murmured something under his breath. Bofur and Bifur immediately shushed each other. The hobbit sighed but fortunately didn’t wake.

“ _Are you going to be able to sleep like that?_ ” Bifur gestured to the way their burglar was clinging to Bofur like a stubborn squid.

Bofur shook his head, smiling fondly. _“Oh, trust me. Bombur was much worse when we were younger._ ”

As if in response, the cook’s snores became even louder.

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Elrond leisurely strolled through his gardens, steps quiet and gaze contemplative. The night was warm, and the wind was softly whistling. He recalled the times his wife would join him in his walks, twirling on her feet and teasing him. She knew that he only roamed around the gardens when something weighed heavily on his mind and would therefore do everything in her power to distract him from it.

He let out a breath that, with any other being, would be called a sigh. He missed her terribly sometimes. But he comforted himself with the prospect that they would reunite someday.

Elrond wasn’t impulsive like his wife would be at times. He considered every matter carefully before he gave any kind of decision. That was why, tonight, the consequences of his thoughtless verdict to delay the dwarves nagged him.

He was by no means a fool; Elrond very much doubted the company of dwarves, who each appeared to have different occupations, would want the map of Erebor for anything academic. A map with moon runes written in ancient Khuzdul and in the hands of the kingdom’s heir? It had Mithrandir’s meddlesome machinations written all over it. And although Elrond wasn’t exactly sure of the wizard’s plans, he had very strong suspicions.

Even so, he had no right to delay them. The workings of mortals, even with an Istari in their company, was no business of his. The map could have been read this very night. Then why had he sporadically planned for them to stay another day?

The answer, of course, was very simple; the implications that came with it, however, were much more complicated.

The Faded hobbit that went by the name Bilbo Baggins was very interesting indeed. However, he was no different from the other beings that journeyed to Imladris in search or in need of healing. The only notable difference perhaps was that he was the first hobbit that Elrond encountered with such an affliction.

And he sought to accompany dwarves instead of staying with kin.

Faded usually crave the presence of family above all. They were the Faded’s attachment to reality, a reminder that someone still considered them important more than anything. If he was remembering correctly, hobbits frequently had a plethora of extended families. Why had Master Baggins not sought comfort with them?

His wife became more demonstrative and insecure months after her rescue. She followed their sons and daughter around, talking as much as she can with them. With Elrond, she would always ask for affectionate caresses and constant reassurance—the two things the elf lord was more than willing to give. He tried not to recall how even that behavior had faded with time, how all that mattered to her in the end was permanent peace.

Was that it then? Had the hobbit’s condition deteriorated to the extent that no presence of family could hope to attach him to the world?

What did Bilbo Baggins hope to accomplish by joining the dwarves in their expedition then? Although Master Baggins had been nothing but courteous and genuinely kind, Elrond couldn’t help but feel that something sinister was at work. And it was this feeling that spurred on his impulsiveness.

Elrond remained doubtful on whether he would get the answers he wanted the next day. Mayhaps at the very least, the wizard should be informed—if he did not already know, that was. Master Baggins should really not be journeying from place to place in his condition, no matter how mild or severe the extent of it was. Elrond would insist he stay in Rivendell for a few years (at least) to heal.

That would be for tomorrow. For now, . . . He whistled sharply. For a moment, nothing had happened save for the gust of wind rustling the leaves. Then, he got a shrill chirrup as a reply, followed by a flapping of great large wings. A spotted merlin landed on his shoulder, claws carefully settling on the fabric of his robes. The eagle turned expectantly at him.

“Call for the White Wizard, Saruman.”

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“He’s been kidnapped! The elves have kidnapped him!” and noisy hurried footfalls greeted Dwalin the very next morning.

Fili and Kili pounded on separate doors repeatedly, sounding hysterical as they shouted about elven conspiracies.

The door that the younger Durin was disturbing burst open, revealing a scowl-laden Dwalin. “Would ye two shut up!” he growled, voice rough from sleep.

“B-But Bilbo!” Kili’s lips wobbled and Dwalin immediately regretted opening the door.

The door across Dwalin’s unlocked and Gloin came out, sleep-rumpled. “What’s with all the ruckus?”

“Bilbo’s been kidnapped!” Fili exclaimed, waving his arms around. “We have to rescue him!”

“What?” Dwalin was instantly alert. He looked around for his axe and knuckle-dusters. Gloin’s eyes widened with horror.

Balin stepped forward, standing beside his brother, snow-white hair in a disarray. “Are you sure, laddies?”

Kili nodded grimly. “His bed had been slept in but the covers were thrown to the floor.”

Unbeknownst to the five of them, another dwarf came rounding down the corner. He caught ahold of the tail-end of their conversation.

“We suspected he was taken in the night while he was still asleep,” Fili added, expression somber.

“We have to find him! Mahal knows what the elves are doing to him now!”

“Where’s Thorin?” Dwalin asked, finally finding his knuckle-dusters. “Have you told him?”

“He was gone when we woke up.” The brothers’ eyes widened. “Do you think the elves have kidnapped him too?”

Fili and Kili, too worked up about their missing burglar and possibly missing uncle, didn’t see the matching smacks to the head they were about to receive. Gloin didn’t have the time to warn them and Dwalin and Balin deemed it wise not to interfere.

“Ow! Hey, wha—“ The brothers both turned to see their “Uncle!” standing, face set in an intimidating glower. The dwarf looked more awake than all of them combined, already dressed in his light armor.

“Uncle! Bilbo is—“

“—in the Ur’s quarters. You’d know that if you had the common sense to look for him instead of creating an uproar and waking the Company from their much needed sleep,” Thorin hissed, crossing his arms and glaring piercingly at his sister-sons.

Fili and Kili gaped like a landed fish, speechless. They turned to each other with wide eyes. Then, without preamble, they dashed towards where the Ur’s room were, calling out a “Thanks, Uncle!” before they disappeared from sight.

Gloin grumbled a bit before going back to his room and closing the door. Thorin rolled his eyes. He would have thought he raised them better than this. He turned to leave but paused as he caught the look both Dwalin and Balin sent him.

He frowned. “What is it?”

Dwalin coughed and scratched his beard. “Nothing. Good of you to check on our burglar so early in the morning.”

Thorin snorted. “He foolishly insisted on staying alone,” was all he deigned to say on the matter.

Balin lifted a brow, seemingly amused. “Indeed.”

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Harsh whispers poked through Bilbo’s consciousness, coaxing him awake. His eyes itched and his throat ached so, he decided to push the coming consciousness away.

“. . . didn’t . . . with us?”

“I don’t . . . but . . . him sleep.”

“. . . _maidkhiti_ . . . “

He let out a weak groan, hand flailing out for his missing heater of a pillow. He was sure it was here earlier . . . The bed dipped and ah, there it was. He nuzzled into it, sighing in contentment.

“. . . adorable.” Twin sounds of giggling.

“Yeah, yeah, now shoo! . . . wake him up.”

“We’ll . . . lunch. Bye!”

A door creaked and thudded closed.

“ _Nudnêl_.”

A laugh followed Bilbo as he slipped into the abyss of sleep.

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When Bilbo was lured into consciousness for the second time, he came fully awake in less than a minute. He was alone on the enormous bed, which as he should be since he had been given a room of his own. He rubbed his crusty sore eyes, wincing at the feel of sandpaper in his throat. Something seemed off . . .

Memories of the previous night slammed back to him like stubborn little fauntlings. His eyes widened, unable to believe he had embarrassed himself that much in front of company. He covered his eyes with his forearm, moaning. He didn’t know if he could face Bofur or Bifur ever again.

“Confound it all.”

“Bilbo! You’re awake!” Fili’s and Kili’s heads popped in from the open doorway. The aforementioned hobbit sat up, blinking at the approaching brothers.

Fili smiled, lifting the folded fabric in his hands. “I got it from your pack. The elves are washing the ones we wore.” He laid the clothes on the foot of the bed.

Kili piped up with a similar grin. “We were called to lunch so we volunteered to wake you up!”

“O-Oh,” Bilbo cleared his throat, dispelling some of the roughness. “Thank you, boys. Goodness, what time is it?” Glaring sunlight engulfed the whole room, pouring heat in every corner.

“It’s barely midmorning, Bilbo.” Fili assured. The dwarf looked up in thought. “I suppose it’s brunch since it is too early to be lunch but too late to be breakfast.”

“Second breakfast then,” Bilbo murmured, shucking off the covers and getting to his feet.

“Do you need help changing?” Kili asked, tilting his head. He only remembered that the hobbit had injured his shoulder when he saw the hobbit favoring it.

“Um,” Did he? He only had a little bit of trouble dressing last night. But today, his arm ached more than usual and slightest twitch sent pain coursing through his whole left arm. It’s probably because of the abuse it received last night.

Propriety warred with practicality—two very important things for a hobbit.

In the end, he thought it best to save himself future embarrassment and pain. He gazed up at the young dwarrows through his lashes and said sheepishly, “If it’s not too much trouble.”

The brothers gave him an amicable grin and stepped closer. “Of course not. We already did it before, didn’t we, Kee?”

Bilbo groaned as he remembered his impromptu show after they defeated the trolls. That was easily the most mortifying moment in his life.

Fili and Kili cackled and moved to aid their hobbit.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
> 
> KHUZDUL TRANSLATION:  
> maidkhiti – to rest  
> Nudnêl – children (similar to “boys will be boys”)
> 
> P.S. : Lord Elrond’s wife was beset by orcs. Her sons rescued her but not before she was tortured. She Faded and lost her will to live. She journeyed to the Gray Havens a year after her attack. (Thanks, Bree, for reminding me about this little tidbit!)
> 
> Next up: A meaty brunch, a certain insufferable dwarf, and a fountain!
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcomed! Kindly point out any glaring errors!
> 
> Have a lovely day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	21. (Suicidal) Alternative I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING/S: Implied depression, crack-ish, butchering of Khuzdul
> 
> A/N: ALMOST 50K WORDS. WHAT!? And we’re not even midway through their journey! Geez, at this rate, this story will reach 100K and we’re not at BOTFA yet.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter contains my attempt at FLUFF and I’m not good at writing that so please tell me any improvements I might make! Also, we’ll be leaving Rivendell two more chapters after this (finally!).
> 
> Nullandil raised a point that I should address. While there is romance here, whatever’s ailing Bilbo will not be solved by true love’s kiss and in just a snap. I mean, I know this is fantasy but I want to keep a certain realism to it. But I do promise it has a happy ending! . . . Uh, somewhat. Probably.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments, favorites, follows, kudos and bookmarks! I really love reading your comments and actually, I get some of the ideas of the next chapters from you guys. So thank you! I will bring them with me through dark times! 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I own a hobbit . . . in my sweetest and most cherished dreams.
> 
> Italicized “Blah” = said in Khuzdul
> 
> Enjoy~

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After dressing into a more appropriate wear and slinging his shoulder once more, Bilbo was led to the same dining hall the Company occupied the night before. The hobbit sat on the only empty seat—one beside Bofur and Balin.

The hatted dwarf gave him a wide grin, which Bilbo returned with a touch of confusion. As if on cue, as soon as the hobbit settled in, the room exploded with activity; elves popped out of nowhere in a practiced choreograph. They carried platters upon platters of food, enough to feed a whole army. Due to previous experience, the dwarrows looked cautiously hopeful about the meal they would get.

“Meat!” one of them bellowed and the others followed with various cries of delight.

Truly, unlike the supper from last night, the feast this morning consisted of plenty of mouthwatering lamb, pork, and chicken. Of course, a scattering of vegetables were still present but there was as much meat as there were greens.

Without further ado, the Company clambered towards the food, spearing this and that. They competed for the grub, using the utensil as swords or some sort of lance. Bilbo attempted to tune out their noise lest he gets overwhelmed again. He was mildly successful because he just recalled a very important thing that needed his focus; he promised a meeting with Lord Elrond this morning.

He glanced around, trying to be inconspicuous, but the lord of Rivendell was nowhere to be found. In fact, Gandalf was missing as well. He contemplated asking the others about it but, in the face of a meaty lunch, Bilbo very much doubted they knew or even care.

No matter. The lord’s absence gave Bilbo enough time to think on their future confrontation.

He was a dreadful liar. Furthermore, he loathed lying to anyone; he was taught from a young age that one could easily be caught in a web of lies they themselves spawned. And he sincerely doubted Lord Elrond could be fooled when the elf had already proven to be astute. But that didn’t mean Bilbo was incapable of twisting the truth a little; that ability was a must when it comes to dealing with greedy hostile relatives and quarrelling tenants of his land.

He rearranged the words in his head, constructing the truth into something much more palatable yet uninformative.

“Feelin’ better?”

Bilbo paused mid-chew, snapped out of his planning. He turned to Bofur who was sporting a friendly grin. Immediately, he felt his cheeks heat at the remembrance of his witnessed breakdown the night before.

The hobbit ducked his head. “Q-Quite. I thank you, Mister Bofur. Last night . . . I apologize that you had to see such a thing.”

“Hey,” Bilbo looked up as he felt a warm hand settle on the small of his back. “There’s no shame in that, Master Baggins.” The dwarf said in a strange echo of Lindir’s words the day before.

Nonetheless, Bilbo was very much ashamed to have troubled others. “Of course,” he said instead, not wanting to argue. A part of him (a rather large one) was innately glad to have been given solace by these kindhearted dwarrows. Bilbo couldn’t deny that. And so, he only did what was proper. “It-It would be please me if you and Mister Bifur use my given name,” he offered, smiling slightly.

Bofur’s whole countenance brightened. “Me and Bifur has been thinkin’ on giving ours to ye since my brother has already given his. Seems like the right time as any.” The dwarf tipped his hat.

Bilbo’s smile grew bigger and more sincere. “I’m glad to have them.”

The hobbit and the hatted dwarf spent the rest of the meal conversing about trivial matters. It was the first time Bilbo chatted with the dwarf at length and he learned many things; namely, the fact that Bofur was not only a miner but also a part-time toymaker like his cousin. Bofur educated the hobbit about the different types of stones and how they can be used in efficiently building structures and equipment. The dwarf then boasted about the different toys he invented with Bifur and how they kept their business afloat in the Blue Mountains. Sometimes, one of the Company, mostly Bifur, would join their discussions.

“You’re not from Erebor?” Bilbo asked in surprise.

“Nay. We were born and bred in Ered Luin,” Bofur replied. At Bilbo’s expression, the hatted dwarf’s grin morphed into something softer. His gaze went to the head of the table where a certain dwarf king was seated. “Some of us, well, joined this quest for Thorin.”

“Master Oakenshield?”

The incredulousness in Bilbo’s tone made Bofur chuckle. “Ye may have not seen it yet, lad, but Thorin is a kind and hardworking leader. Whether it is one of his people or one of Ered Luin’s, he gives help to those who may need of it.” The dwarf looked to his food, face still painted with a warm smile. “Me and Bombur were homeless after we lost our parents. He found us in the streets and gave Bombur a job in the palace kitchens and I in the mines.” No small amount of admiration colored Bofur’s voice. “For that, he has a lifetime of loyalty in me. Wherever he goes, I follow with a willing heart.”

Bilbo didn’t know what to say to that so he kept silent. He’d already known Thorin’s commendable skill in battle thanks to Balin’s tale of Azanulbizar. But these subtle kinds of heroic deeds were, in a hobbit’s eyes, much more admirable than anything. Unconsciously, his eyes lifted up to the direction the Company leader’S seat.

And he found himself locking gazes with those scrutinizing sapphire eyes.

Thorin cocked a brow, expression both condescending and questioning.

Bilbo imitated the gesture in mockery.

The dwarf’s glare turned fiercer but the hobbit refused to back away. They glowered at each other for a solid minute.

Then, Bilbo was startled into blinking as he heard a loud whack behind him. He turned and saw Bofur rubbing his head with Bifur’s hand raised in admission of the deed.

“I didn’t—!” Bofur started but was cut off as Bifur scolded him, if one was to go by his sharp tone.

“ _Zantulbasn . . . uzbadu . . . naishhini . . ._ ” were the few words Bilbo was able to make out.

Bilbo stared confusedly at them before deciding that he didn’t want to know. He looked back to Thorin but the leader was already conversing with Dwalin, their previous staring contest seemingly forgotten.

Bilbo let out a huff. No matter how valiant or gallant, in the hobbit’s eyes, that dwarf would be nothing short of insufferable.

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“I found a public bath!” Nori exclaimed, grinning ear to ear.

Brunch had come and gone, and it was nearly afternoon. Bilbo wondered where the lord himself had gone. The dwarrows, too comfortable to move, decided to lean back on their respective chairs. Their earlier energy waned but their cheerful anecdotes still filled the air of the dining room. Some, like Nori apparently, had wandered about.

Dwalin snorted. “I ain’t joining any tree-shaggers in their baths.”

“No, no, no.” Nori’s expression was almost maniacal as his grin grew bigger, sharp teeth showing. “This one’s better.”

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Bilbo should have known.

He accompanied the dwarrows out of curiosity. Perhaps it would have been wiser to wait for Lord Elrond in the dining hall.

Contrary to Nori’s advertisement, it wasn’t a public bath. At all.

The hobbit had only a few minutes to observe the decorative fountain before thirteen rowdy dwarrows violated it.

The fountain stood at the center of a beautiful garden. It was almost as humongous and half as tall as the room Bilbo had been given. It easily contained the whole of the Company.

He had slapped a hand over both eyes when the dwarrows started stripping. Now, he was blushing and mortified enough for the whole Company. Dear Eru, have they no shame? They were naked for the whole of Rivendell to see! From what he knew of them, that was probably what they wanted—to embarrass and to damage the elves’ sensibilities. And Bilbo’s too, as it happened.

He heard various battle cries as the dwarrows fought in the water, oblivious to Bilbo’s secondhand embarrassment. Whenever they bathe in rivers, the hobbit had either washed up early or washed up late. Nonetheless, he always disrobed when he was sure there were no dwarrows around. Now, their clothes lay rumpled at the edges of the fountain, half-wet and half-forgotten. A sprinkle of stray drops hit Bilbo’s hair and clothes, forcing him to take a step back.

He treaded on something leathery and he wrenched his hand away from his face to regain his balance.

He got an eyeful of hairy dwarven anatomy before he managed to turn on his heel. Curse the dwarrows’ blasé attitude towards nudity!

“Bilbo!” Fili called out. “Come on in!”

“Aye!” Kili followed. “The water’s refreshing!”

The hobbit heard a few more dwarrows urging him to join them, splashing sounds mixing in.

“G-Goodness!” he couldn’t help but exclaim. “What would Lord Elrond say if he found you—Master Oakenshield!” Because even the usually solemn dwarf decided to join in on the fun. “Should we not—Should you not—Ah!”

Because he had his back turned, he failed to notice that one had sneaked up behind him. The hobbit found himself being hefted up a broad shoulder and dragged towards the fountain.

“No! NO! Put me down!” he screeched.

“As you wish!” Gloin guffawed. Then, he promptly threw the hobbit onto the fountain.

Bilbo didn’t even have time to yelp as he was submerged into the admittedly refreshing waters. The dwarrows cheered enthusiastically as he flailed to the surface. The hobbit coughed, having swallowed water in his surprise. Thank Yavanna the water was deep enough to cushion his fall but shallow enough that he could still reach the bottom. Swimming had never been a hobbit’s forte.

“Oi! You could have made his arm worse!” Oin scolded the dwarrows, approaching Bilbo.

Gloin looked sheepish but remained unapologetic. The hobbit glared at them all. These were his only clean clothes! Then he remembered they were all still naked and quickly averted his gaze, the tips of his pointed ears turning red.

“It’s fine, Master Oin,” Bilbo reassured the healer. Surprisingly, after a few hours of not moving it, the soreness earlier in the morning dissipated. Gandalf’s magic truly did wonders. He hoped it won’t come back with the new abuse it experienced. “I think it’s—“

Bilbo sputtered indignantly as Kili proceeded to splash a good amount of water onto the hobbit’s face, wetting whatever parts that remained dry. The Durin brothers giggled and started a full-on assault.

“Hey!” Bilbo tried to retaliate but with one hand stuck in a sling, it was quite a challenge. “That’s—phah!—not fair!”

Bofur waded beside the hobbit and swung a large wave towards the younger dwarrows. On Bilbo’s other side, Dori punched the water so hard, it created a flood that assailed towards the boys. Fili and Kili squawked and the hobbit couldn’t help but let out a boisterous laugh.

Fili smirked, wiping his face. “Oh, it’s on.”

At his side, Kili let out a battle cry.

Soon, the rest of the Company began picking sides, doing their best to drown the other opposing group. Ori, Gloin and Dwalin joined in Fili and Kili’s team. Meanwhile, Bofur, Bombur, Bifur, Dori and Nori allied themselves with the one-handed hobbit.

“Don’t overdo it, Master Baggins!” Oin reminded him and Bilbo just grinned in reply.

Balin and Thorin secured a spot as far away from the chaos as possible. Oin seemed not to care for them all, choosing to properly bathe himself and his ear trumpet instead.

Anarchy quickly descended as the dwarrows wrestled with each other. Bilbo, even with a handicap, tried his best to topple the members of the enemy squad. Whenever he himself was on the verge of slipping, there would always be a hand steadying or catching him. He barely noticed sometimes but whenever he did, he gave them a grateful smile. In fact, he was enjoying himself so much that he almost forgot that the rest of the dwarrows were stark-naked. Almost.

Kili jumped way out of the water’s cover to startle the hobbit into slipping. He, therefore, exposed the bits Bilbo rather remain unexposed. The hobbit let out a scandalized squeak. He, of course, couldn’t be blamed when his good arm impulsively came up and push the dwarf away with unrestrained force.

Kili yelped as he skidded, losing his footing. In an attempt to regain it, he grabbed onto Ori. The young dwarf was apparently unable to handle the other dwarf’s weight and started falling with him. Dwalin grabbed at them both, trying to help. In the end, the three of them toppled into the waters with a large splash, drenching their other teammates.

Bilbo doubled over in mirth. Bofur and Nori clapped the hobbit’s back for a job well done. The rest of the dwarrows laughed at the opposing team’s state.

When the hobbit controlled himself, he straightened and prepared for a second bout of attacks.

That’s when Lord Elrond and Lindir walked around the bushes and came into sight.

The utter shock on the elves’ faces would have been comical had Bilbo not been filled with unadulterated horror.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
> 
> KHUZDUL TRANSLATION:  
> “Zantulbasn . . . uzbadu . . . naishhini . . .” – let’s just say the word “matchmaker” is in there somewhere.
> 
> Next up: The confrontation Bilbo’s been dreading and a journey through Rivendell’s library!
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcomed! Kindly point out any glaring errors!
> 
> Have a brilliant day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	22. (Suicidal) Alternative II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING/S: Implied depression, crack-ish, suicidal thoughts are back, y’all
> 
> A/N: GODDAMN, WHY DO I PUT ‘NEXT UP’s THAT ARE NOT ACCURATE? Ugh, every time I write the chapter, my plans go awry because the characters are too damn stubborn. I had to rewrite this chapter literally 3 times and STILL, it did not go the way I planned. This time, it’s because of Bilbo (damn you, you cutie hobbit!).
> 
> Also, this story is officially NOVEL-LENGTH. And would you look at that, it only took me six months to do it . . .
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments (200+!), favorites, follows, kudos (FREAKING 1000+) and bookmarks! I really love reading your comments and actually, I get some of the ideas of the next chapters from you guys. So thank you! I will bring them with me through dark times! 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I butcher up the English language and the British accent and you think I’m Tolkien? NO, I’M NOT. (Psst, I am Tolkien only in my dreams)
> 
> Enjoy~

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“I-I truly—I ap-apologize,” Bilbo gritted his teeth to cease their chattering. Out of the warm waters of the fountain and into the breezy air, the hobbit couldn’t help but shiver. His clothes felt heavy on him, dripping water noisily to the grass below. His cheeks flushed an apple red, partly from the cold but mostly because of the humiliating situation he got himself in. “In b-b-behalf of the Com-Company, I apologize for o-our rudeness and—and f-for tampering with you-your fountain.” He couldn’t believe he would forget himself like that!

Behind him, the dwarrows were drying and clothing themselves. Judging by the various scoffs and huffs Bilbo heard, they felt anything but contrite. Bilbo bit his lip, fighting down the urge to scold them like thickheaded little fauntlings. To do that, the hobbit would have to turn around and face them and Bilbo had enough of dwarven skin for a lifetime, thank you very much.

“It is nothing that cannot be fixed.” Lord Elrond did not look glad, per say, but sounded willing enough to accept the apology.

“We shall have to get you into dry clothes, Master Baggins,” Lindir interjected with a worried glance. He glance at Lord Elrond in askance and the lord dipped his head in a nod. Lindir then turned to the hobbit and made a beckoning gesture. “Come and we’ll find you some spare ones.”

Bilbo gave a grateful smile, which may have come out a grimace. He started forward but was halted by a hand on his shoulder.

“Ye’ll be alright on your own?” Bofur asked (fully-clothed, already, thank Yavanna), shooting both elves a wary glance.

Bilbo good-naturedly rolled his eyes. “Unlike you lot, I’d rather not let anyone see me disrobing.”

A wave of chuckles passed through the Company. Bilbo caught some mutterings of being a delicate flower. The hobbit merely shook his head and did not dignify their murmurs with a reply.

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Lord Elrond and Lindir both led him to a room where he could dry off and change into a less-drippy attire. He had been given a set of white silk tunic and equally white trousers. Bilbo suspected they were actually children’s clothing and promptly tried to forget this realization.

He exited the privacy of the rooms, wet clothes in hand. Both elves, who had been patiently waiting for him outside, immediately turned to him. Lindir smiled and grabbed ahold of the hobbit’s dirty garments. Surprised, Bilbo could only let him.

“I shall take them to the washers,” the elf promised. “Good day, Master Baggins.” With a curt nod, Lindir strode away and out of sight.

The hobbit blinked at his abrupt departure. Then, he realized that left him alone with a certain elven lord.

“Master Baggins,” Lord Elrond greeted. “I believe I was promised a discussion,” he prodded gently with a soft smile.

The hobbit swallowed audibly, trepidation filling him. _You have a plan, Bilbo_ , he reminded himself. There was no need to be nervous! It wasn’t like Lord Elrond would do anything drastic no matter what the hobbit said. “Of-Of course, Lord Elrond.”

“Walk with me, Master Baggins.” Lord Elrond gestured to the hallway to their right. This one led to the entrance of another garden, opposite from the path they took previously. Absently, Bilbo wondered just how many gardens Rivendell actually had. It seemed never-ending!

He plastered on a smile that hopefully didn’t look as uneasy as he felt. “Lead the way.”

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Unbeknownst to a certain hobbit and elf, two dwarrows had been wandering the corridors nearby. Two sets of eyes caught the end of the hobbit’s coat as it disappeared into the pathway of the garden. They exchanged confused and wary gazes; they had thought their burglar would only be changing his clothes before returning to the Company. Why then, was he in the continued company of the lord of Rivendell and going the opposite direction?

One gestured at the pathway with his head, cocking a brow.

The other immediately got the message and nodded.

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“I apologize for my absence this morning,” Lord Elrond started, hands clasped behind his back. “There are matters I had to take care of.”

Bilbo, who had been momentarily distracted by a beautifully strange flower, snapped to attention. “It is no problem at all, my lord. In fact, I am sure you have more important things to do than entertain a plain old hobbit like me.”

Lord Elrond merely raised an amused brow at Bilbo’s attempt to evade their talk. Well, the hobbit couldn’t be blamed for trying, could he?

“Nonsense, Master Baggins,” the elf lord replied. “As I told you, it has been a long time since a child of the West has graced my halls. You’re a very important guest.”

The hobbit’s cheeks pinked, nose wriggling. He heard the lord smile.

“How long have you been travelling with the dwarves?”

Bilbo looked up in thought at the question. “Almost two weeks now.” He could barely believe it. It felt like he had been with the Company for months. While life in the Shire had been peaceful and monotonous, life on road had been eventful and dangerous (but not dangerous enough, apparently, to kill a single untrained hobbit). The days felt longer and exhausting but Bilbo could admit that he quite liked the excitement it brought.

Lord Elrond hummed. “And your injury? If I may ask, how did it come about?”

“Oh, this?” Bilbo fiddled with the straps of his sling. “We encountered trolls the other day,” he replied, suppressing a wince at the remembered pain. It had been agony. Worse still, disappointment still prodded him because the trolls didn’t get to finish what they started.

The lord’s brow rose before settling in an evident frown. “Trolls? It is surprising none of your companions sported similar injuries.”

Bilbo chuckled because the elf lord was right. “Well, unlike me, they _do_ know how to fight.”

The corner of Lord Elrond’s lips ticked upward. “Hobbit are not meant for anything violent.”

“Perhaps not.” Bilbo inclined his head in agreement.

An image of Lobelia wielding her flower-patterned umbrella, of Hamfast brandishing a small shovel, and of other hobbits raising various kitchen utensils and farming equipment popped in his mind. He immediately shook it away lest he laughed himself to death (not only would that be embarrassing, it was the least glorified way to go).

The lord’s eyes sharpened and the hobbit knew what was coming before the words even came out of the elf’s mouth. “Then how did you find yourself in this journey? What do you accompany the dwarves?”

Bilbo took a deep quiet breath to brace himself. He wanted to get this over with and to stop tiptoeing around his childhood idol. He had not even been able to have a proper and lengthy conversation with the Lord of Rivendell! He would surely regret it if he did not cease the opportunity and ask Lord Elrond about some of the tales he had read about the legendary elf.

“The reason I joined this quest.” Bilbo caught Lord Elrond’s curious and encouraging look. “Um, well, as you know, I am a half-Took. We are the most adventurous clan of the Shire.” The hobbit scratched his head, ruffling his curls. “When Gandalf came and spoke of a noble quest, I was quite excited for an opportunity—“ _for a creative death_ “—to explore the lands outside the Shire.”

Unbidden, Fili’s and Kili’s mischievous grins flashed in his mind’s eyes. It was followed by the kind eyes of Bofur, Bifur and Balin, Bombur’s laughing face, and Gloin’s happy expression as he spoke of his family. He recalled Dori’s hobbit-like fussiness and Nori’s encouraging words.

His smile, when it came, was half-fond and half-wistful. “I suppose part of it was because I wanted to meet and know new people. It—It could be rather lonely, living as a bachelor in a huge smial.”

Something akin to understanding flickered across the elf lord’s expression, unnoticed by the hobbit.

“I see.” Bilbo started at the lord’s response, having forgotten that he had company. “But surely you had known that travelling would worsen your condition?”

Bilbo opened his mouth then shut it again. He hadn’t even known he was afflicted with something. Oh, he knew he was different, was reminded of it at every other instance. But he had attributed it to his overall attitude and not some kind of illness of the spirit.

“I don’t think that’s true,” he said instead.

In fact, throughout the journey, emotions Bilbo thought he lost came back to him like they never left. He had felt happiness, annoyance, warmth, fright and excitement. The numbness and hollowness that followed him never disappeared but most of the time, other emotions overwhelmed them that he can put them at the back of his mind. “It isn’t always easy but it is . . . quite an experience.”

How ironic; the decision that would inevitably cause his death also caused him to feel alive once more. If the though wasn’t so pathetic, Bilbo would have laughed.

“Adventuring in long periods of time is stressful,” Lord Elrond reasoned, tilting his head. “And rather dangerous. Would it not be better if you stay in one safe and stable place to heal?”

The hobbit let out a sigh. He knew Lord Elrond was only trying to help but he couldn’t help but feel sliver of irritation at the suggestion. “I have signed a contract with the dwarrows, my lord,” he replied, a touch testy. He didn’t say that the hazard of adventures was precisely why he joined the quest. “And I would prefer not to go back to the Shire.” He frowned at the mere notion. He finally gathered the courage and energy to leave it and he was never going back there alive.

“Contract?” Lord Elrond’s brows rose. And oh, _bother_ , were they supposed to keep their quest and its details a secret? They were, weren’t they? That’s why Thorin hesitated to pass by Rivendell and pull out the map in their meeting. Thankfully, before Bilbo could work himself into a panic, the lord continued, “And I was not suggesting the Shire.”

Bilbo blinked rapidly, nonplussed. “What?” he said smartly.

Lord Elrond gave that grandfatherly smile once more, eyes crinkling. “You are very welcome to stay here, if you wish it. In fact, I insist upon it.” He placed a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “We have very talented healers as Lindir said. In your condition, Imladris is the best place for you to stay.”

The hobbit gaped. Stay in Rivendell? His younger self would have fainted in happiness by now. Or be joyfully dancing in circles. His younger self would have exclaimed an enthusiastic ‘YES’ before Lord Elrond could even finish his sentence. His younger self would happily take the elf up on his offer.

The idea sent a twinge of warmth in his chest and the temptation did not elude him.

But he was no longer and would never be his carefree, adventurous, and energetic younger self again.

He didn’t want to be _healed_ , didn’t want to be cured, didn’t want to prolong his life just to experience more pain and disappointment. What was the use? He had not done and would not do anything meaningful with his life either way. He had set out to end it in his own terms, mostly for himself but partly for the hobbits who would be burdened with the corpse of a distant asocial relative. He wouldn’t burden _anyone_ any longer.

No, he cannot stay in Rivendell; the solution he desired was not something he would find here.

“I am—I am heartened by the offer, Lord Elrond. Truly,” he replied and couldn’t even muster a rueful smile. His spiraling thoughts brought with it a black mood that immediately spread to his whole being. A heaviness settled in his bones, making him feel like the whole world was pressing down on him. But he fought on and kept his composure. “But as I said; I’ve signed a contract. And a Baggins will always honor his word, written or otherwise,” he stated as firmly as he can, which wasn’t quite as firm as he’d like.

Ever astute, Lord Elrond did not miss how the hobbit’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly and how his gaze flickered to the ground.

It seemed Master Baggins was not as easy to convince as he had thought. He contemplated for a while. “I cannot force you to stay,” he admitted eventually, breathing out a small sigh. “But I ask one thing—that you tell your companions the truth about your condition.”

Bilbo bristled, turning sharply to the elf. “W-What? B-Why?”

The lord met his gaze and explained calmly, “You may not believe it now, Master Baggins, but it will greatly worsen in the unpredictable wild, especially without proper treatment.” A touch of concern flitted on the lord’s expression. “There might come a time when you feel a permanent answer is much more enticing. When that happens, I would like your compa—“

Bilbo really _really_ tried hard not to freeze up. Unfortunately, he was not trained in the art of discretion and deception. The lord immediately caught his lapse.

Lord Elrond’s brows flew to his hairline and his eyes widened. “You . . . It has already come to that, hasn’t it?”

“N-No!” Bilbo denied out of instinct, vehemently shaking his head as if the intensity of the action might convince the lord. It did the opposite. “Of c-course not! Why would I—That doesn’t—I’m not—“

In the end, Bilbo gave up all pretenses. Lord Elrond was no fool.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, staving off an incoming headache. He was so _tired_. Goodness, this conversation quickly got out of hand! “So what if it has?” he said snappishly, silencing the Baggins in him that scolded him for being rude. “I find that it is none of your business either way, my lord.”

Lord Elrond looked neither surprised nor affronted at the hobbit’s tone. He half-expected the hobbit to clam up earlier. But his eyes blazed with something akin to determination. “The Shire may be different but here, Master Baggins, when a person admits to being plagued by such forlorn thoughts, we do make it our business. We are a valley of healers—“

“With all due respect, I don’t need or want your help!” Bilbo almost screamed, suddenly and inexplicably angry. Why did the lord need to pry? Hadn’t Bilbo said he wasn’t staying in Rivendell? There was no need for Lord Elrond to concern himself since he wasn’t going to burden this valley with his presence. Eru, even Lobelia wasn’t this meddlesome! “I have been doing fine for years and I shall continue to be so.” _For the few days I’ll live anyway._ “Now, if you’ll excuse me. Good day!”

With that, Bilbo rapidly turned on his heel and practically dashed out of the gardens. He’ll come to regret his outburst later, he was sure. For now, he just wanted get away from the conversation and lock himself away in his room.

“Master Ba—“

“Good day!” he said with finality and disappeared from sight.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
> 
> P.S.: Mood swings—going from one emotion to another in a short amount of time and in extremity. Another symptom of depression. This isn’t the first time Bilbo had something like it in this story but it is the first time I actually remembered to address it.
> 
> P.P.S: I don’t know if I‘ll ever address it so I’ll just put it here; Saruman the White actually arrived that morning and Elrond had to accommodate him. That’s why he was busy.
> 
> Next up: A dwarf contemplates, Bilbo develops a tiny a crush (take a wild guess on who. Hint: It’s not Thorin. *whispers* Not yet), and a journey through Rivendell library!
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcomed! Kindly point out any glaring errors!
> 
> Have a brilliant day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	23. (Suicidal) Alternative III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING/S: Implied depression, crack-ish, suicidal thoughts
> 
> A/N: Well, you guys are going to be a bit surprised at the eavesdropper’s identity. I promised I had this planned from the start and didn’t change it!
> 
> Skywolf42: Oh my god, I just noticed my inconsistencies with would/could/should! I am too lazy to change the previous chapters’ error for now (because I have a plan to rewrite/edit it all IF I finish this story) but I will be taking note of it for future ones. Thanks for pointing it out! ^_^
> 
> CocoCatFTW: Hello! My updates are usually sporadic (as is my muse) but generally, I update within ten days. I’m glad you like the story so far!
> 
> K_T_Tara: OH MY GOD, I just imagined it and I couldn’t stop laughing. If I ever write some kind of ‘deleted scene’ story, I would definitely write something like that. Thanks for the laughs!
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments, favorites, follows, kudos (FREAKING 1000+) and bookmarks! I really love reading your comments and actually, I get some of the ideas of the next chapters from you guys. So thank you! I will bring them with me through dark times! You are awesome.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I butcher up the English language and the British accent and you think I’m Tolkien? NO, I’M NOT. (Psst, I am Tolkien only in my dreams)
> 
> Enjoy~

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Elrond sighed.

That could have gone better.

He glanced at the archway where the hobbit had disappeared to. It was better to let Master Baggins cool off for a while. He had gotten so riled up that his shoulders had been trembling.

He had seen many beings used anger as a defense, especially among the Faded. Elrond must have ‘hit the nail on the head’, so to speak. At the very least, he now knew the extent of the hobbit’s affliction. He suspected it; there were signs if you knew what to look for. The fact that Master Baggins seemed not the least bit bothered by the constant cries of his spirit spoke of years getting used to it. And without a family to cling to, the sickness had festered like an unattended wound. This adventure posed an even enormous risk to the hobbit’s health and safety.

Unfortunately, no matter how he wished, Elrond could not force him to stay in Rivendell. He would just try doubly hard to persuade him next time they speak. Perhaps the lord would wear him down eventually.

He paused. An adventure with the high possibility of danger and fatality . . . The wish to perish . . . His eyes widened. No, surely . . . That would be absurd. No being in Arda could ever think such an incredulous plan of joining a risky expedition as a way of ending their life. He was overthinking it, seeing connections that weren't there.

A twig snapped, breaking Elrond out of his outrageous thoughts. Dark eyes shifted to the bushes a couple of feet away. “I suppose you can come out now, Master Dwarf.”

A brief moment of silence ensued. Then, the leaves of undergrowth rustled noisily and Dwalin stepped out with a scowl on his face.

“How long have ye known I was here?” he asked, crossing his arms.

Elrond inclined his head, resisting the urge to snort. “Since Master Baggins and I stepped onto the pathway.” Surely, the dwarf didn’t think he was being stealthy with all that bulky armor? The fact that elves had sharper senses than any other race didn’t help the dwarf hide from sight. “How much have you heard?”

Dwalin’s brows furrowed in confusion before he said, “Enough.” A note of disbelief seeped into his tone as he said, “Yer tellin’ me our burglar is sick? With what? ‘e looks fine to me.”

The elf straightened. “If you have not figured it out, then that is not for me to divulge,” he replied not unkindly.

Dwalin snorted. As usual, elves were no help. And apparently, divulging excluded letting others listen in on the conversation.

“It is, however, something that should concern you and your companions,” Lord Elrond added, tone one of firm encouragement. “I only have Master Baggins’ best interest when I say it is better he resides in Rivendell for a long while.”

“Look ‘ere,” Dwalin cut off, brusquely running a hand through his balding head in irritation. “As long as it doesn’t interfere with our mission, Master Baggins’ business should remain _his_ business alone. If he wants to stay, he’s free to stay. If he wants to _leave_ with us, none of you tree-shaggers have the right to hold him prisoner just because of some misplaced desire to _help_.” Elrond didn’t miss the implied threat of the last statement.

“And if I say that it can affect your . . . mission?” the elf countered, eyes narrowing and an uncharacteristic anger welled up inside him. “Would you do something then? Or would you rather act after it’s too late?”

Dwalin inhaled a sharp breath, mouth opening for a harsh retort.

“ _Adar!”_

Both turned to the source of the call to find an elf quickly approaching them. Dwalin saw the newcomer’s resemblance to the lord of Rivendell and realized he must be one of Elrond’s sons.

“Elladan,” Elrond greeted.

The younger elf paused as he noticed the dwarf angrily standing nearby. After a beat of hesitation, he gave a small bow before turning to his father once more.

“ _Rhîn Galadriel_ _sí,_ ” Elladan whispered, Sindarin smoothly flowing from his tongue.

Dwalin saw Elrond’s eyes widen fractionally. The lord whipped his head to the dwarf and said, “I must take my leave.” He sent the dwarf a scrutinizing gaze. “I advise you to carefully consider it, Master Dwarf.”

Before the dwarf could even open his mouth for a reply, Elrond had already swiveled around and left the gardens with his son. Dwalin glowered at the unanswered questions the elf had given him. _Tree-shaggers_ _and their cryptic-arse comments._

The conversation he eavesdropped on had appeared important but Dwalin had learned next-to-nothing about the main subject. First, he missed a lot of the interactions because unlike elves, dwarrows didn’t have good hearing when it comes to open spaces. Second, both the hobbit and elf danced around the subject like a particularly brittle stone, never directly referring to anything. All he knew for certain was that the burglar was apparently afflicted with some sickness, and the lord of Rivendell was offering a cure.

Dwalin huffed, turning to walk back to the Company. Interfere with the quest? Most probably, they had been discussing the burglar’s allergies or something inconsequential and Elrond was overacting by persuading him to stay in this Mahal-forsaken place.

However, something ominous nagged the back of Dwalin’s mind. No matter how often they jested about it, dwarrows knew elves did not worry over anything petty. Something didn’t add up in the discussion but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what.

He would report to Thorin; he was, after all, the one that ordered him to follow both the hobbit and elf. Perhaps the leader himself might make sense of this issue with their burglar.

If need be, Dwalin would confront the hobbit himself. The quest was everything to them and he wasn’t about to let their burglar hinder its success.

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Bilbo sighed, anger cooling down and leaving shame and regret in its wake.

He rubbed at his temples to try and ease his head’s throbbing. He shouldn’t have lost his composure like that. But as much as he wanted to turn back and apologize profusely, he couldn’t bear to face Lord Elrond at the moment. His ire may have gone but the weight on his shoulders refused to lift and the exhaustion in his bones hadn’t dissipated. He really would prefer to get to his room and block the whole world away.

Speaking of which, . . . Bilbo halted. For the first time since he ran out, he lifted his head and slowly looked left then right. The walls, hallways and doors he found were unfamiliar. Furthermore, there were no elven guards around to point him in the right direction. Right.

He continued walking. Surely, he’ll find himself on some familiar track sooner and later as long as he keeps moving.

Several minutes passed with not one shadow of a person nor familiar surroundings. He thought to retrace his steps but through the haze of his anger, he couldn’t quite recall the path from whence he came. He began feeling anxious but tried to shake the feeling away.

 _Rivendell wasn’t enormous enough for me to wander long without encountering someone,_ he comforted himself. He shouldn’t worry too much. He didn’t get lost in his exploration yesterday and he wasn’t about to get lost now.

That was until he rounded a corner and found himself back to the same corridor where he had started. He stared in shock.

 _I’ve caught Master Oakenshield’s disorder!_ was his first thought. Then, he instantly giggled at his silliness; he didn’t spend enough time around Thorin to catch anything from that insufferable dwarf.

Perhaps he should pay more attention next time. He didn’t want to waste time getting lost again. He turned on his heel to backtrack.

Of course, the mother of irony hit him. He collided into a hard wall (that wasn’t there before, the hobbit was sure) that caused him to unceremoniously sprawl to the ground. His tailbone jarred sharply at the impact, the whole body trembling after. He keened and curled when his injured limb ached sharply in protest.

_Valar above!_

A gentle hand clasped his shoulder, slender digits tenderly rubbing the joints of his swollen arm. Miraculously, the touch eased the pain immediately like a balm.

Bilbo lifted his head and was met by the most gorgeous being he had ever laid his eyes upon. Long flaxen hair framed a soft angular face set in a warm expression. A small aquiline nose and a pair of soft full lips. Wise blue eyes gazed upon the hobbit with a kindness that made his heart constrict.

So entranced by the other’s beauty, he failed to realize that they were actually speaking to him.

“O-Oh, pardon me?” He replied intelligently.

The being smiled kindly, the corners of their eyes crinkling. “I asked if you were alright.” Their voice sounded like soft melodious chimes in the air.

“Q-Quite,” Bilbo said with rapid nods, cheeks flushing with sudden sheepishness. When he became aware that he was still lying on his backside, he immediately attempted to stand up. Dear Eru, not only had he been rudely staring but he had also been sitting on the floor like an idiot.

The elf, Bilbo realized belatedly, helped him get to his feet and steadied him when he got there. “T-Thank you.” The hobbit looked up through his lashes, shying away from those astute eyes but wanting to see the stunning being at the same time. “Um, ah, Bilbo Baggins, at your service,” he introduced with a shallow bow.

There was an unearthly glow around the elf’s skin and Bilbo wondered if they were actually part-Vala. He didn’t get to wonder for long.

“Galadriel of Lothlórien,” the elf replied with a curtsy. Her eyes sparkled with delight, lips pursed into a genial smile.

This time, Bilbo really did gape unbecomingly.

“G—of Lo—The Lady Galadriel!” Yavanna, was he doomed to make a fool out of himself in front of all legendary elves? “I’m s-sorry. I didn’t realize—“ Bilbo attempted to give the lady a more appropriate and deeper bow.

Lady Galadriel laughed softly, halting the hobbit’s progress before he could further injure himself. “There has been no harm done, Master Hobbit.”

“I—Oh,” Bilbo smiled sheepishly up at the elf. “You must forgive me. I-I don’t often get to meet the fairest legendary elf.” It was only a few seconds later that his brain caught up with his mouth. He blushed once more at his shamelessness.

Thankfully, Lady Galadriel merely chuckled. “Of course.” Her hand came up to brush the hobbit’s curls. Bilbo noted that the headache he had been sporting disappeared at the contact. “The same is true for me. I have not met a child of the West for a long while.” Her expression turned inquisitive as she pulled back her arm. She looked as if she was about to ask something.

Then, the elf paused, tilting her head as if listening for something. She turned to the hobbit with an apologetic smile. “I must go. It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Baggins.”

“And I you,” Bilbo replied enthusiastically, giddy despite himself.

“I hope you enjoy your stay in Imladris. The hyacinths are very beautiful during spring,” was the lady’s parting statement before she left with an elegant swish if her pure white robes.

“That was surreal,” Bilbo muttered to himself, smiling with disbelief.

Even a few minutes after, the shock of the meeting refused to ebb. It was only later that Bilbo would ponder upon the odd choice of words the Lady Galadriel imparted.

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Tired of aimlessly wandering, Bilbo decided to knock on one of the doors in the hopes that someone might answer and point him in the right direction.

He waited, rocking on his heels. After a solid minute of no response, the hobbit deduced that the room must be empty. Just as he was about to leave and find another occupied chamber, the door opened inward to reveal a frowning elf. The elf’s expression cleared as he looked down and saw the hobbit.

“You do not have to knock, Master Hobbit,” the elf said before Bilbo could ask for directions. “As long as you do not plan to damage the books, you are welcome to enter any time.”

“The books?” Curiosity took ahold of him. He peered behind the elf and into the room. The elf widened the gap of the door and swept a hand inside.

Thousands upon thousands of books greeted the hobbit’s awed gaze. Hundreds of shelves were arranged in neat little rows with almost narrow aisles. Each shelf was three hobbits high and ten hobbits wide. The whole _library_ itself was three stories high.

Bilbo barely stifled a scream of outmost delight. His eyes gleamed with glee as they try to take in every single detail at once. His feet stepped inside without his explicit permission.

He didn’t even think about the library in his exploration yesterday. He just followed where his feet took him. Now, he was glad the furry little things took him here!

The elf— _librarian—_ appeared amused by the hobbit’s reaction. “You are free to browse, Master Hobbit.”

Bilbo turned to him with a grin. “Really?”

The elf placed a finger over his lips. “Just keep quiet.”

“Oh, yes.” Bilbo unconsciously mimicked the gesture, nodding repeatedly. “Of course.”

After one last thankful smile, Bilbo didn’t dare waste his time. He hurriedly padded towards the bookshelves, eager to explore the books within his grasp.

Most of the books are in Sindarin, unfortunately, but there are plenty written in Westron. Bilbo ran his fingers over the embossed titles on their spines. History of the War of the Last Alliance of the Second Age, Herbs for Different Ailments, The Rings of Power during the First and Second Age, The Elven Architecture, How to Smith Warhammers, Five Easy Steps to Become an Archer, Classifications and Lists of Plants in Arda (Vol II), The Dragon Who Ate Its Own Tale, . . . The library was not lacking in fiction, history, arts, guides, geography and a variety of other genres.

The hobbit pulled out the books that piqued his interests and skimmed through their passages. It was difficult to open them one-handedly but he persevered. More than once, he dropped them because of his handicap. He was just thankful the librarian didn’t come and scold him. He made sure to place it in the exact same place after. He didn’t know the elves’ system but it seemed quite different from the one they had in the Shire’s (very _very_ small) library.

His inner scholar was practically sighing in contentment at every new knowledge he absorbed. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to stay in Rivendell and read through all these books . . . Well, he wouldn’t give up his search for an ingenious death so he supposed therein lie the problem.

He took a rather thick book titled ‘Braids and Their Meaning in Elven Culture’, wondering if the dwarrows’ braids themselves had meaning. He started as he met the gaze of a familiar freckled face from the other side of the shelf.

“M-Master Baggins!” Ori cried out in shock.

“Shhhh!” was Bilbo’s immediate response. He did it without thinking, really.

Ori covered his mouth with one hand, cheeks coloring in embarrassment. Bilbo rounded the shelf and got on the same aisle as Ori.

“Mister Ori,” Bilbo greeted, blinking confusedly as he glanced around. “What are you doing here alone?” Dori rarely let his youngest brother out his sight. Nori was more subtle in his protectiveness.

“Um,” The dwarf hitched the pile of books in his hands higher as if in defense. “Please don’t tell my brothers,” he pleaded, brown eyes wide. “I told them I was going to be resting in our room.”

“Do they disapprove of you going to the library?” Bilbo asked, unable to remove the horror in his voice. Just the thought of being prohibited from going to this nest of knowledge . . . The hobbit could not comprehend such cruelty.

Ori gave a helpless smile. “They just don’t want me wandering anywhere here in Rivendell.” His gaze darted upon the rows of books above, behind, and in front of them. “But Rivendell’s library is one of the biggest in the West. I’m not about to let them stop me from exploring here.” The young dwarf said the last statement with rightful determination.

Bilbo nodded his full assent, patting the dwarf’s shoulder. “That’s right, Mister Ori. Never let anyone stop you from getting your hands on more books, not even your brothers,” he deadpanned.

Ori stifled a chuckle beneath his hand. “Just Ori will do, Master Baggins. It seems we are comrades of the same ilk.”

“Then just Bilbo for me,” the hobbit easily replied. His eyes dropped down to Ori’s hands where the dwarf held several books. They widened with delight as he read the titles. “Elven fantasies and folklores?”

Ori shuffled his feet, blushing but not ashamed. “Fantasies are pretty interesting. They showcase the race’s belief and culture in an elusive manner.” The dwarf gave a small smile. “Plus, they take me to new worlds and adventures for hours on end.”

And that’s what sealed the deal. Bilbo and Ori would have a _lot_ to talk about.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
> 
> I know it seems like Bilbo’s plan is obvious and that Elrond should have figured it out but really, think about it; going on an adventure to kill yourself? Bilbo’s plan is the most insane idea that ever came to fruition and others still view Bilbo as a mild and timid being! OP in kinkmeme is a genius.
> 
> Next up: Ori and Bilbo talk and moon runes are revealed, and it’s time to leave (finally!)
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcomed! Kindly point out any glaring errors!
> 
> Have a brilliant day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	24. (Suicidal) Discoveries I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING/S: Implied depression, crack-ish, suicidal thoughts
> 
> A/N: A line from this chapter is inspired by a comment from RoseJustice waaaaaay back in Chapter 4. It was a hilarious idea that I’ll probably reference in later chapters too.
> 
> On another note, I found the Sherlock fanart/s that partly inspired this! OMG, I’ve been looking for it and FINALLY! Look [here](http://twosugars16.deviantart.com/art/bbc-sherlock-Poor-John-1-362886310), [here](http://twosugars16.deviantart.com/art/BBC-SHERLOCK-Poor-John-2-362886534), [here](http://twosugars16.deviantart.com/art/BBC-SHELROCK-Poor-John-3-362886642), [here](http://twosugars16.deviantart.com/art/BBC-SHERLOCK-Poor-John-4-366391703), and [here](http://twosugars16.deviantart.com/art/BBC-SHERLOCK-Poor-John-5-380321820)!!!. Check it out! (Warning: suicide attempts)
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments, favorites, follows, kudos (FREAKING 1000+) and bookmarks! I really love reading your comments and actually, I get some of the ideas of the next chapters from you guys. Also, thanks for everyone who corrected my grammar last chapter. Man, I don’t know why I didn’t notice those glaring errors! You are awesome.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I butcher up the English language and the British accent and you think I’m Tolkien? NO, I’M NOT. (Psst, I am Tolkien only in my dreams)
> 
> Enjoy~

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Bilbo and Ori found a comfortable alcove tucked in a secluded corner. They happily conversed (in low tones, of course) about the fiction and non-fiction books they enjoyed. They touched on philosophy, history, geology, science, fantasy, comedy, fairytales, romance and various other genres. They talked about the scholarly works they’ve read, most especially about the cultures of different races.

Ori even slipped out a couple of facts about dwarven culture; their braids did have significant meanings and, apparently, long hair and equally long beards were considered an attractive trait among them. Dwarows also didn’t have last names but had same last letters of their first names instead to indicate familial relationships. When Ori mentioned about dwarrows being born with a sixth sense, Bilbo’s interest was piqued.

“Stone sense?” Bilbo asked, leaning forward.

Ori nodded. “We have the innate ability to navigate through spaces surrounded by rocks, like caves or tunnels. We still need light, of course, but we can make do without it if we’re just traversing a path.” The dwarf’s gaze went distant, pulled into some memory or another. “We are sensitive to the vibration of stones; we feel the way the wind courses through them. We know where they are weak and where they are strong. It’s almost as if the stone themselves talk . . . Well, the more appropriate description would be—they _sing_ to us.”

“Oh.” The hobbit didn’t know dwarrows could be so poetic. “That sounds wonderful, Ori.”

The dwarf smiled. “It is. I—“ He fiddled with the loose threads of his tunic. “I suppose that is partly why Mister Thorin wishes to reclaim Erebor. The familiar stones of home . . . they feel—they _sing_ differently from any other. I think he wants his people to hear the Lonely Mountain’s song once again.”

Ah. So Ori was most likely one of those of who joined the quest for Thorin. Noble, loyal, kind, kingly Thorin. Bilbo wondered when exactly would the aforementioned dwarf show these qualities in the presence of the hobbit himself; when would the rough exterior fade into the alleged great man the Company described?

Alas, the dwarf didn’t seem eager to show that side of him to the hobbit. Bilbo didn’t even know what he’d done (or didn’t do) to deserve the harsh judgement Thorin placed upon him every day of the journey. No matter; in just a few more days, Bilbo would be blissfully unaware and their leader would be gladly unburdened.

An epiphany then dawned to the hobbit. “Navigation . . . But Master Oakenshield’s directionally-challenged.” Ori stifled another laugh. “What does that do to his stone sense?”

“Well,” The young dwarf looked around for eavesdroppers. “We have been in open spaces the whole journey. There are some, very few and very rare, like Mister Thorin, that, uh, the stone sense is all the sense of direction they have.”

Bilbo blinked. And blinked again. Then, he bit his lower lip to prevent the chuckles building in his throat from coming out. He was only mildly successful because a few sounds of laughter escaped.

Ori looked scandalous. “Don’t laugh!” he whispered harshly. “It’s very unfortunate for Mister Thorin.”

“O-Oh, I’m s-sorry, Ori,” Bilbo wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes. “It’s just—Master Oakenshield is skillful in battle and a competent leader. But if we allow him to plan our route in this journey, we’ll end up back in the Shire!”

“Or we’ll just go to the opposite direction he points and we’ll reach Erebor sooner,” Ori said in defense.

Both Bilbo and Ori boggled at the dwarf’s words. They stared wide-eyed at each other.

Then, they both burst into carefree laughter. Yavanna, the mere thought was ludicrous but Bilbo cannot deny it could be entirely possible! They went on for several seconds, both of them seemingly unable to stop.

Oh, Eru, Bilbo should really cease laughing before he dislocates his shoulder again.

“Master Hobbit, Master Dwarf.”

The disapproving voice of the librarian did the trick. Their laughter abruptly stopped, leaving them breathless. They cleared their throats and averted their eyes, properly chastised.

“We’re sorry, Master Elf,” Ori said, expression properly apologetic. “We’ll be silent this time.”

“See that you do,” the elf replied testily and with one last warning look, left their corner.

They shared sheepish glances and smiles.

After that, they decided to actually take advantage of the large library in their grasp and fetch some interesting books. In hush tones, they briefly talked about their choice of reading. Then, after a few minutes, they settled into their respective chairs and read their respective books.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the comfortable silence of each other’s company.

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“He is not in your care?”

A resigned sigh. “I’m afraid not, my Lady. Not yet. I will try to convince him once more.” A small smile. “He is more stubborn than he looks.”

A soft hum and a delicate frown. “His soul cries out in constant pain. It is most saddening to hear.” A solemn expression. “You must persuade him next time.”

“Of course.” A decisive nod. “Now, my Lady, I presume Saruman has explained the situation?”

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“And you’ve heard nothing more?” A thoughtful frown.

A shake of the head. “Nay. Elrond implied that the sickness may affect our quest but said nothing definitive.” A pause, a realization. “But maybe . . .”

“What?”

“’m likely wrong but . . . perhaps . . . There is no reason for the halfling to join our quest. ‘e already lived in a cozy home and did not seem to be lackin’ in wealth. ‘e gains little and risks everythin’ by accompanyin’ us.”

“Get to the point, Dwalin.” An impatient huff.

“The sickness may be of a terminal kind.”

A pause. A strangled noise. “ . . . What?”

“It makes sense . . . His risky behavior with the trolls, his willingness to go to a dangerous quest that has nothin’ to do with ‘im, Elrond’s insistence that ‘e stay . . .” A grave look.

“His meager appetite, lack of energy and constant tiredness.” A heavy frown.

“Ye’ve noticed too, haven’t ye?”

“If what you say is true . . . If the burglar really is dying, then he came to this journey because he has nothing to lose.”

“Aye.” Crossed arms. “I do not think ‘e even plan to reach the mountain.”

A loaded silence.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

“What do ye propose we do?”

“We observe and wait. If he shows further symptoms of a fatal sickness, we confront him immediately. We cannot jeopardize the Company’s safety nor this quest’s success.”

A curious lilt. “And what do we do with the burglar then?”

A lifted brow. “We leave him and go on.” Footfalls striding away.

A mutter of “Somehow, I doubt the lads would like that very much.”

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Both Ori and Bilbo lost track of time as people were wont to do in libraries. When they came to, it was already early evening. They hurried to the dining hall where, hopefully, the rest of the Company were dining still. Ori and Bilbo quickly created an excuse that involved a lot less of their library explorations. The hobbit cared not about what the others think but Ori panicked at being found out by his brothers so Bilbo decided to play along.

They arrived just as the Company was starting supper. Gandalf, it seemed, had decided to join them this time, sitting beside Bombur and Gloin. However, Lord Elrond was again absent. Bilbo was both relieved and disappointed at that

Ori sat between Dori and Nori, as usual, while Bilbo, this time, took the empty seat between Thorin and Fili. The leader shot him an oddly scrutinizing look, eyes going from his furry feet to the top of his bronze curls. The hobbit was too tired for a silent argument and opted to ignore him. He turned to Fili and Kili, and gave them an amiable smile instead.

“Where have you been, Bilbo?” Kili asked curiously.

“You didn’t come back after changing your clothes,” Fili stated, frowning.

“I got lost. Then, I found Ori and we got lost together,” Bilbo replied distractedly, observing the variety of foodstuff in front of him. He did get lost. Barring going astray in adventure books, Ori and Bilbo did get a wee bit lost on the way back—even though Ori promised he’d memorized the path. It wasn’t technically a lie.

He scooped a large portion of venison, green peas and rice to his plate. All the events from earlier hungered him greatly.

Fili and Kili laughed at his curt narration. The older of the two opened his mouth, about to comment, but then realized their uncle was seated nearby. He quickly shut his mouth with a click. Bilbo sent him an amused glance because he had his suspicions as to what crossed the dwarf’s mind.

Dinner passed by swiftly, the dwarrows being much more subdued than usual. Bilbo hoped they were just tired from the day’s ventures and not actually afflicted with some ailment.

This time, Balin was the one who invited the hobbit to join them in meeting with Lord Elrond once more. He was much more polite in his words, unlike a certain dwarf king.

Bilbo had no choice but to agree, even though he dreaded this conference a lot more than the previous one. The hobbit had always been fond of maps and he truly wanted to find out what those moon runes say. Bebother his other concerns. He just took a deep breath and braced himself.

This is Company business and Bilbo planned to hinder it no further.

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They were led to a structured cliff-face surrounded by waterfalls. Bilbo had no time to admire the whole scenery because the others hurriedly strode towards a raised dais, which appeared to be made out of clear crystal.

Lord Elrond had merely given the hobbit a small sympathetic smile before they led them to this place. Guilt had rose in the hobbit’s chest because he had yet to apologize for his outburst earlier but he stamped it down, reminding himself that this was not the time.

The elf lord wasted no time putting the map flat on the crystal podium. Thorin and Balin hastily sidled to his sides, eager to see whatever would appear. Bilbo stayed slightly back but stood on his toes, just as keen to witness the process. Gandalf seemed content to stay behind through it all.

As if on cue, the clouds moved away from the moonlight’s path. The light hit the podium, causing it to emit a soft blue glow. On the map, something on the corner glinted silver. Slowly, unfamiliar symbols unraveled on the paper, filling a previously blank part.

“Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks,” Lord Elrond started reading, voice strong and expression curious. “And the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the keyhole.”

A riddle written in ancient dwarvish and hidden through moon runes. Bilbo didn’t even know why he was surprised. He hoped that the answer wouldn’t lead to another puzzle and then another like a fruitless treasure hunt.

“Durin’s Day?” he couldn’t help but ask.

Gandalf glanced at him and, for possibly the first time since the start of the quest, gave a straightforward remark. “It is the start of the dwarves’ new year when the last moon of autumn and the first sun of winter appear together in the sky.”

“This is good news,” Thorin said with a thoughtful frown but a hopeful tone. “Summer is passing and Durin’s Day will soon be upon us.”

“Then, we still have time.” Balin’s excitement was oozing out of him through his wild gestures and huge grin.

“Time for what?” Was this a good time to tell them Bilbo barely had any idea as to what they were discussing?

“To find the entrance,” Balin answered immediately. “We have to be standing at exactly the right spot, at exactly the right time. Then and only then can the door be opened.”

“Right,” Bilbo murmured to himself.

Entrance? To the mountain? He thought . . . Well, he hadn’t thought about how they plan to enter Erebor, really. Perhaps he should have listened back in Bag End when they were talking about their tactics. In his defense, he didn’t really think he would live long enough for the information to become relevant. Now, he could only hope he perished before he become important to those plans.

“So this is your purpose,” Lord Elrond cut in, voice solemn with a hint of accusation. “To enter the mountain.” He didn’t appear fond of the notion.

“What of it?” Thorin challenged, straightening his back and lifting his chin.

“ _Some_ would not deem it wise,” Lord Elrond said, handing over the map. His tone indicated he was included in those ‘some’.

Thorin snatched the map away as if he feared the elf lord would change his mind about giving it back.

“What do you mean?” Gandalf asked, frowning.

Lord Elrond turned to the wizard with a cocked brow. “You are not the only guardian to stand watch over Middle Earth,” he stated meaningfully.

Gandalf’s face cleared but he seemed unhappy by whatever realization that occurred to him.

With one last unreadable look at each of them, Lord Elrond headed straight for the exit.

Bilbo hesitated for several seconds, staring uncertainly at the lord’s back. Then, he nodded decisively and jogged to catch up to the elf. He loathed to delay the apology Lord Elrond deserved from him.

He managed a few steps forward before a hand shot out and grabbed his right arm.

“Pack up your things, Halfling,” Thorin said, more of an order than a request. “We leave in the cover of the night.”

Bilbo frowned. “But—“

“Tonight, Burglar.” Thorin gave him a challenging glance. “Or we’ll be glad to leave you behind.”

A pinch of fear crawled up the hobbit’s spine at the threat. This adventure was all he had. He ripped his arm from the dwarf’s grasp, glaring. “Very well, Master Oakenshield,” he all but spat.

When Bilbo turned to the entrance, Lord Elrond was already gone. Unsurprisingly, so was Gandalf.

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When the whole Company was informed of their imminent departure, quiet cheers and sighs of relief passed in a wave. They surreptitiously packed up without questions or hesitation, making sure none of the elven guards suspect anything.

Bilbo, meanwhile, entered his assigned room with a sigh of resignation.

His dirtied pairs of clothes of the last few days lay neatly folded at the foot of the made bed, washed and dried. He changed out of his borrowed clothes and into his second-best waistcoat, green tunic, and brown shorts. He left the elven (children’s) clothes in a pile on the bed and shucked the rest of the clothes inside his bag. He placed his sheathed sword on the bed with his satchel, ready to be strapped around the waist when needed. Bilbo still disliked having to lug it around but he knew he had to keep up the pretense.

A tug of sadness pulled at him as he looked around the room. He thought of the beautiful gardens he explored, the breathtaking library he discovered, and the comfortable bed at his disposal. Curious indeed that now that they were actually leaving, he felt very reluctant to go.

He shook the melancholy thoughts out of his head. He was going to miss Rivendell’s comforts but Bilbo didn’t think anything could tempt him into abandoning his true goal.

The hobbit fished out a feathered quill, a small ink bottle, and a piece of paper from his previous clothing’s pockets. Bilbo had approached Ori and had asked for them, which the dwarf happily provided. Because of Thorin’s hurry, Bilbo could only think of one way to amend his outburst with Lord Elrond earlier.

He sat on a wee desk pushed up on a corner and started writing.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
> 
> Next up: Bilbo eavesdrops, Gandalf is informed, and we learn more about hobbit culture!
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcomed! Kindly point out any glaring errors!
> 
> Have a brilliant day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	25. (Suicidal) Discoveries II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING/S: Implied depression, crack-ish, suicidal thoughts
> 
> A/N: A line with Gandalf’s POV was from another fic that I can’t remember right now. Please, if anyone recognized it, tell me so I could credit it!
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments, favorites, follows, kudos (FREAKING 1200) and bookmarks! I really love reading your comments and actually, I get some of the ideas of the next chapters from you guys. Also, thanks for everyone who corrected my grammar in the last chapters!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I butcher up the English language and the British accent and you think I’m Tolkien? NO, I’M NOT. (Psst, I am Tolkien only in my dreams)
> 
> Enjoy~

❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤

Since it was most likely his last night in the magnificent valley, Bilbo wasted no time sightseeing once more. This time, however, he choose to explore the nearby hallways, walkways, and statues. Thorin’s earlier warning still rang in his ears, sending pangs of anxiety in his spine. Stupid, stubborn, narrow-minded dwarf.

He leaned against the railings of a balcony, admiring the plethora of stars twinkling in the night sky. They looked like decorative glitters a child spilled on a dark blanket. Bilbo should know; he’d once been scolded for a similar incident.

He beamed, eyes gleaming with the moonlight. The stars from this view were definitely clearer and plentiful than that in the Shire. But Bilbo was glad to note that could still see the outline of Stingy Badok Baggins who hoarded money like hobbits hoarded food. His father narrated, several times, how Stingy Badok died literally swimming in gold but had no one to arrange his funeral because he deserted all his friends and family for the sake of wealth. Badok (whose surname, Bilbo later learned, changed depending on the fauntlings listening) taught children to value family over anything (except, perhaps, food but that was another tale entirely).

Bilbo lifted his hale arm and traced the familiar paths his father once shown him. He was knocked out of his reverie by familiar voice.

“Of course I was going to tell you. I was just waiting for the right chance.” Gandalf argued into the night air. “And really, I think you can trust what I’m doing.” He sounded offended at the implication he was anything but trustworthy.

The hobbit dropped his arm, gaze going to find the owner of the voice. Gandalf was apparently accompanied by Lord Elrond; both strolled purposefully on a narrow railless bridge just below Bilbo’s balcony.

“Do you?” The hobbit couldn’t see Lord Elrond’s expression from afar but judging by his tone, he was very much doubtful of the wizard himself. “That dragon has slept for sixty years. What if your plan should fail? If you wake that beast?”

Really, the acoustics of this place was quite terrible. Anyone could eavesdrop on any conversation! Just like what Bilbo was doing, apparently. But it wasn’t his fault! Why, the both of them should lower their voice if they didn’t want to be overheard.

(Also, most hobbits had an innate nosy side, although Bilbo would preferred the term ‘overly curious’.)

“But if we succeed! If the dwarves take back the mountain, our defenses in the East would be strengthened,” Gandalf replied, pointedly ignoring Lord Elrond’s concerns instead of addressing them.

Ah, so even the wizard had ulterior motives for helping in the quest. Bilbo wondered what the Company would make of that.

“It is a dangerous move, Gandalf.”

“It is also dangerous to do nothing!” Gandalf exclaimed, thumping his staff on the ground. “The throne of Erebor is Thorin’s birthright. What is it you fear?”

“Have you forgotten?” Lord Elrond hissed, halting their walk. Bilbo leaned forward because the lord’s voice abruptly dropped into low tones. “ . . . madness runs deep in that family.” _Master Oakenshield’s?_ “His grandfather lost his mind. His father succumbed to the same sickness. Can you swear the Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall?”

Madness? Bilbo frowned. He had read some illnesses passed from parent to child but never some kind of insanity! What kind of madness would be so potent that Lord Elrond fear it passing onto a third generation?

The hobbit caught a small movement at the corner of his eye. He shifted his gaze and almost jumped out of his skin.

“Sweet Yavanna,” he breathed out, placing a hand over his pounding heart.

Standing a few feet away and what Bilbo initially thought was the ghost of some vengeful spirit was one brooding Thorin Oakenshield. Judging by his tightly clenched fist and stiff posture, he had been there for quite some time.

Bilbo’s nose twitched and he looked away.

Lord Elrond and Gandalf exchanged more vehement words and their voices slowly tapered off as they climbed a very tall tower.

Both the dwarf and the hobbit were left with an edgy silence between them.

Finally, Bilbo cleared his throat. “Well—“

“We’re leaving, Burglar,” Thorin said curtly, spinning on his heel and stalking away.

And Bilbo was left with several questions buzzing in his mind.

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Dealing with the White Council had been one of his least favorite responsibilities. Lady Galadriel was, of course, pleasant as always. One could often expect Lord Elrond to be mostly cordial.

Saruman had constantly been the problem. If Gandalf didn’t know better, he would think that the White Wizard lived only to contradict every little thing he said or did.

Even with the malevolent Morgul Blade revealed to him, Saruman refuted each and every claim of a darkness encroaching upon Middle Earth. Gandalf didn’t know if the White Wizard was simply turning a blind eye or he truly didn’t notice the evil machinations working in the background.

“The question of this dwarvish company, however, troubles me deeply. I am not convinced Gandalf. I do not feel I could condone such a quest,” Gandalf also suspected Saruman really liked the sound of his own overconfident voice.

Gandalf resisted the urge to roll his eyes and retort a cheeky remark. It would only encourage the other wizard.

 _“ They are leaving.”_ Lady Galadriel’s voice, even in his own head, was the reprieve Gandalf sought.

 _“ Yes,”_ the Grey Wizard replied even though he knew the lady did not need the confirmation.

Lady Galadriel shot him a knowing look, lips curling upwards at the corners. _“ You knew_.”

The Grey Wizard gave a look equivalent to a shrug, smiling slightly. Then, abruptly, the lady’s disposition changed into a tensed grievous one. _“ They have taken the hobbit with them._”

Before Gandalf could inquire upon such a strange remark (Of course, they’re taking Bilbo. Where else would he go?), Lindir entered and disrupted their meeting.

“The dwarves . . . They’re gone,” The elf informed them, looking quite nonplussed.

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The ridges around the surrounding hills (“They’re too small to be mountains, Bilbo!”) were narrow and quite unstable but the Company had to make do. Climbing up the rocky pathways leading out the hidden valley, Bilbo just couldn’t resist a last look.

Rivendell was as breathless a sight as he first saw it. The early morning sun casted the valley in such a soft inviting light. The pang that went through his chest could be something akin to homesickness. But just like Bag End, he could not let the thought of home lure him away from a more permanent peacefulness. He released a soft sigh.

“Master Baggins.”

Bilbo startled because the voice and the words didn’t belong together. He turned and realized the rest of the Company had already trudged past him and he was now on the rear.

“I suggest you keep up.” Thorin demanded—well, excuse him— _suggested_ in his usual derisive tone.

“Why, Master Oakenshield,” Bilbo’s Took side decided he’s tired of taking all of this lying down. His inexplicable bad mood might have also contributed to it. “’Master Baggins’? No ‘Burglar’ or ‘Halfling’?” He grinned, all teeth and no humor. “I do believe I’m growing on you.” Bilbo managed to bit back a _I can’t say the same about you_ but only just.

With that, the hobbit pushed past the shocked dwarf.

Thorin glowered fiercely while the dwarrows nearby snickered like tweens.

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Lord Elrond had departed without preamble, demanding Lindir to explain the situation. Saruman had followed not long after, sending Gandalf one last venomous glare.

At last, only the Grey Wizard and the Lady of Lothlórien were left bathing in the warm glow of the sunrise.

Gandalf listened to the words of wisdom, of encouragement, and of warning the Lady Galadriel imparted. His gift of prophecy might be little and lacking but he knew, through years of experience, to trust whatever vague visions he saw or ambiguous voices he heard. Although he was quite confident, a little assurance from Lady Galadriel, blessed with the powers of prophecy herself, would not be unwelcome.

He thanked the elf with a bow and turned to leave, wanting to delay no longer. But Lady Galadriel seemed to have other plans for she called to him once more.

“Mithrandir.” Gandalf glanced back at her. “Why the Faded hobbit?”

The wizard had already opened his mouth, had already a deep meaningful answer ready at the tip of his tongue because he had a feeling he would be asked. However, as the full question sank in, all that came out was a breathy, “What?”

The elf seemed astonished. “You did not know.”

“Faded?” Gandalf unconsciously took a step towards her, staff hitting the ground with a loud thwack. “Bilbo Baggins is Faded?”

Lady Galadriel nodded solemnly. “His spirit is dying. If he does not get proper treatment, his body will soon be too.” A tiny frown appeared between her brows. “I have wondered why you let him leave with the dwarves.”

The wizard let out a shaky breath, eyes unfocused. How had he not noticed? All this time, the hobbit acted fussily, politely, timidly, and kindly—all things normal hobbits did! But no, looking back on it, there were signs—little almost imperceptible signs that Gandalf had disregarded, had ignored, had chalked up to Bilbo’s mixed heritage. Had he led to hobbit to a path that would doom them all?

“I . . . I must go,” he said curtly. The wizard needed clarify and see for himself. Yes, his gift of prophecy was small but he did know this; with Bilbo Baggins they may yet fail but without him, they most assuredly would. What were the Valar planning, sending a Faded hobbit to a stressful journey? Gandalf felt a chill at the back of his spine, suspecting that he might not like the answer to that.

The lady nodded. “Of course. And Mithrandir.” Before Gandalf could turn away again, she reached out to grasp his hands with both of hers. “If you should ever need my help, call for me and I will come,” she vowed with unadulterated earnestness.

Despite his recent discovery, Gandalf couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, my Lady.”

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_To Lord Elrond,_

_Since I know few, if not none, of the Company are willing to say it, I will; we thank you for your hospitality these past two days. For me, it has been a most enlightening and most enjoyable experience. ~~How did chrysanthemums~~ ~~I want to take the library~~ Rivendell has met and exceeded all my expectations of it. You have our gratitude for graciously accommodating such impolite guests. ~~We apologize for sneaking out~~_

_That aside, the main purpose of this letter is actually to address the issue this morning. I truly am sorry for my outburst. ~~But you were prying~~ I would rather apologize in person but since we are leaving, I can only apologize in paper. I know you were only concerned for my well-being. ~~Why? We met just a day ago. I don’t understand~~  You’re right in your assessment and I suppose I lashed out because of that. No one has ever find out this truth about me ~~and it feels often like a shameful secret I must keep~~ and I became scared. I know this is no excuse for my rudeness but I hope to earn your forgiveness all the same._

_~~Since it is unlikely that I will ever come back in Rivendell and as a way to apologize, I want to give you the truth.~~ _ _~~Thank you for everything. Tru~~     ~~Since it is unlikely that I will ever come That is all I want to say. Tha~~     ~~Since it is~~_

_Since it is unlikely that I will ever come back in Rivendell and as a way to apologize, I want to give you the truth. ~~A permanent sol~~ I do wish to die and that is the main reason why I joined this adventure. I knew it will be full of perils that will inevitably and certainly kill me. It is the reason I cannot stay in Rivendell ~~no matter how I wish it~~. I know you are disappointed but I do not want to be cured. Death has been and always will be the right solution for me._

_Thank you for everything, my Lord. I wish you well and the Valar be with you._

-       _Bilbo Baggins_

Elrond folded the letter, expression pointedly blank.

The idea did cross his mind but because he deemed it too incredulous to consider. Bilbo Baggins had continued to surprise him at every turn, he thought grimly.

Mithrandir had been pale when he left and Elrond learned from the Lady Galadriel what had transpired. Elrond knew not what the wizard planned to do now that he found out about the hobbit’s condition. Mithrandir was by no means cruel but the lord recognized, as members of the White Council, that they had to look and worry about the bigger portrait. And judging by Mithrandir’s actions, Bilbo Baggins was definitely part of that bigger portrait whether the hobbit wanted to be or not. He would not be willing to place the needs of the one above the needs of the many.

Elrond could not interfere nor help any longer now that the company of dwarves were out of his lands.

But mayhaps there was someone still who can.

He contemplated for several moments, weighing the consequences of his action or inaction. In the end, it was Gandalf’s own words from the night before that tipped the odds; _It is also dangerous to do nothing!_

He wrote a brief letter and called to his merlin. The bird flew at his command, landing on a nearby dais. Tying the parchment around the one of its feet, he murmured a name and a land. Immediately, the merlin’s wings fluttered in agitation, beak letting out an indignant squawk.

Elrond smoothened its feathers in a soothing manner. “I know it is a long and dangerous journey but you must go. You are the only one capable.” He softly patted the top of its head. “I trust you to ensure the message will reach _him_.”

The bird let out what might have been a huff had it been human. It glared at the elf with beady black eyes. Then, without further ado, it spread its wings and flew into the sky.

Elrond watched it go, sincerely hoping he would not come to regret his decision.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
> 
> Yeah, y’all know where that merlin was sent. If ever, it would appear again later. And initially, I wasn't going to have scratches on Bilbo's letter but then I realized I needed to show that Bilbo was hesitating in telling Elrond the truth. So tah-dah!
> 
> Um, so bad news. I may not be able to update for a while because I’ve lost my muse (again, ugh). It may come back or it may not. Don’t worry! I’ll watch/read some angsty hobbit fanvids/fanfiction to bring it back.
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcomed! Kindly point out any glaring errors!
> 
> Have a brilliant day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	26. (Suicidal) Departure from Rivendell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING/S: Implied depression, an abundance of suicidal thoughts, kinda gory
> 
> A/N: Yeah, I wrestled my muse back! This never happened before. It usually stays gone when it leaves . . . *looks at all unfinished stories* *kicks them to the side and out of view*. Oh well. It seems I like writing this story more than I realize.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments, favorites (400+!), follows, kudos (FREAKING 1200) and bookmarks (300+, WTF)! I really love reading your comments and actually, I get some of the ideas of the next chapters from you guys. Thanks for the inspiration!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I butcher up the English language and the British accent and you think I’m Tolkien? NO, I’M NOT. (Psst, I am Tolkien only in my dreams)
> 
> Enjoy~

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The day they left Rivendell was one of the worst days of Bilbo’s life.

The burden on his shoulders that disappeared when they were staying there came back to drag him down to the depths of the earth as soon as they left. It caused him to feel lethargic once more. His mood got steadily worse the further they trudged away from Rivendell. He didn’t even know _why_. He would miss the warm meals and soft beds but he sincerely didn’t want to stay. There wasn’t a reason for his downtrodden temper.

 _A valley for healing . . . Perhaps just the sight of it had truly tempered my condition,_ Bilbo thought ruefully. _And now it’s come back much worse._ He shook the notion away, desperately hoping this had just been one of his bad days.

His appetite had all but gone again. He had to keep reminding himself that _dying of starvation is not glorious, Bilbo_ as he forcefully shoved food down his throat. He barely kept himself from getting sick after their midday meal.

The terrains sloped into steep angles that had him stumbling every five minutes. The hobbit, for the first time in his life, mourned the lack of ponies because their packs were now a burden upon their own backs all day. They barely stopped for rest; Thorin wanted to make up for the lost time the extended stay in Rivendell cost them.

Bilbo found his gaze wandering to the small ravines of the sides of the hills. He kept thinking how easy it would be to just trip and roll down into the open maws of the chasms. But they were too shallow a drop, too gradual an angle, and Bilbo would most probably survive it. He feared suffering unnecessarily if the death wasn’t certain. Plus, the dwarrows had more than enough time to try and save him, which they would definitely attempt if previous experience was to be consulted.

Then, his gaze would wander down to the sword strapped around his waist. Should he? It would be easier . . . However, unsheathing it would create a noise that would get the attention of all the dwarrows nearby, so alert they were to any kind of danger. But would they realize his intentions in time to stop him? Perhaps he should distance himself and see if he can try . . .

“Are you alright?” Fili frowned, steadying Bilbo after he tripped for the nth time.

The hobbit didn’t feel like speaking so he just nodded and continued to hike in silence. No, the dwarrows would notice if he was lagging.

The pinch between Fili’s brows deepened as he exchanged questioning glances with his brother.

The abrupt disappearance of Rivendell’s comforts had, honestly, affected them all. Perhaps Bilbo most of all because he had been used to a cozy lifestyle before. They gave the hobbit a wide berth after that, suspecting that he just had to adjust to journeying once again.

Before the sun fully set, they had made camp in a large clearing made of grass and a few boulders. Bilbo tasked himself into helping Bombur prepare supper, wanting to be useful even though a part of him just wished to curl into a ball and sleep. Because of his one-handedness, all Bilbo could do was stir the pot of stew while Bombur was skinning the meat and Bofur was chopping the vegetables.

“Hey, Bilbo.” The hatted dwarf grinned as he dropped (far too few) vegetable bits into the pot. Bilbo stirred once more to spread the seasoning on the newly added ingredients. “Yer arm getting tired?”

The hobbit made a noncommittal sound, distracted as he stared at the swirling mixture. If he had allowed or instructed the trolls to place him in the stew instead of making up some insane story about cutting hobbit heads, would things have turned out differently? He would have died screaming as the oil boil his skin and cook his bones. He would feel his organs melt at the heat and only die when everything inside him softened into disgusting goo. It would be agonizing but he. Would. Be. Dead.

Right now, he felt less concerned about the method and more concerned about the result.

He snapped out of his musings when an elbow hit his side. He turned to Bofur with wide bewildered eyes.

“What’s wrong, Bilbo?” Bofur inquired, worry etched over his features. “Ye’ve been quiet the whole day.”

“Nothing,” was Bilbo’s mechanical response. At the hatted dwarf’s doubtful look, the hobbit sighed. Perhaps it was Bofur’s earnest expression or maybe because Bilbo’s heart had been too heavy to carry alone for today. No matter what the reason, he found himself honestly answering, “I don’t know.”

“Already missing that elven place?” the dwarf teased, deftly peeling small potatoes.

“Not really,” he replied. He scooped some stew and watched it plopped down back into the pot. “I just wish—“ He pressed his lips together, not finding the words to finish the sentence.

“You just wish what?” Bofur prodded, expression curious.

Wish for some blasted peril to finally kill him? Wish he had the courage to take his sword and just do it himself? Wish that these confounded dwarrows stop saving him, befriending him because he had been nothing but a liability his whole life and they’d realize that soon if he didn’t off himself?

 _Wish that someone will actually care when you die?_ a small voice whispered. _Wish that they would want you to live instead?_

He sighed, stamping down on that pathetic part of himself. His wishes weren’t nearly this complicated at the start of the adventure.

“I just wish to see my parents again. I miss them.” It wasn’t until he said it that he realized it was true. And the next words just flowed from his mouth with little conscious thought. “My mother travelled to Rivendell in her youth. She used to tell me stories about it, much to the dismay of my father.” Bilbo smiled to himself. “My father never did want to encourage my adventurous side even though he would tell me similar tales as well.” Then, his smile dropped. “In Rivendell, I sort of reconnected with them—with their memories again after such a long time. Now . . .” He gave a helpless gesture at the whole situation.

Bofur clasped the hobbit’s shoulder. “Aye, Bilbo, I understand what yer saying,” he said, eyes sympathetic. “There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss mine either.” After a beat of shared silence, the dwarf turned to him with a slight smile. “Tell me about them? Yer parents?”

Bilbo stared in astonishment. “Um—“ Bombur placed the diced meat into the stew, making the hobbit pause their conversation to stir the pot once more. “I don’t know what to tell you, Bofur. They’re ordinary folks that lived ordinary lives.”

The hatted dwarf chuckled, bumping shoulders with the hobbit. “Surely not that ordinary if they managed to raise a son willing to risk his life for a group of strangers.”

Bilbo winced inwardly, feeling guilty because like Gandalf, he had an ulterior motive. “I do want you to succeed in your quest,” he murmured more to himself than to Bofur. “Though I’m unsure if I would be of any help.”

But if he could tip the balance and would actually have a big irreplaceable part in reclaiming Erebor, would he be prepared to give up his goal and see the quest through?

He quickly shook the ridiculous notion away. Him, having an important role? He wouldn’t give up his mission because that would _never_ happen.

“Don’t sell yerself short,” Bofur said, amused more than anything. “Not everyone can face off three trolls and keep their pants clean.”

Bilbo found himself laughing instead of being scandalized like a normal hobbit would be. Perhaps he just had been looking for any opportunity to laugh the whole day. The action certainly made him feel lighter. “Well, you did that too, didn’t you? Unless . . .” The hobbit widened his eyes in mock horror.

Bofur playfully shoved him and Bilbo snickered even as the action nearly sent him sprawling to the ground on his injured side.

Both of them chatted about nonsensical things as dinner was prepared. Bombur offered a witty comment once in a while, setting off Bilbo’s laughter more than once. After distributing portions of the stew to the other members of the Company, they settled in a little corner near the fire. The hobbit was surprised at how easy it was to talk to Bofur; with Bofur’s amiable and cheerful demeanor, he didn’t feel the usual low-hummed trepidation when talking with others. Bilbo didn’t even noticed he was eating until he looked down and realized he had finished his food, too engrossed in their conversation.

“Why don’t hobbits wear shoes?” Bofur had asked after drinking from his wineskin.

“Or is going barefoot just a preference?” Bilbo and Bofur turned to Ori, who had suddenly popped out in front of them with an open journal and coal-tipped stick. The dwarf blushed, realizing his rudeness. “I-I’m sorry—I just overheard you speaking and—I-I’m a bit curious about hobbit culture as well.” Then, he amended quickly, “O-Of course, I understand if-if some cannot be shared to outsiders.”

“Well.” Bilbo patted the empty spot next to him. Ori stopped babbling, took the proffered invitation, and sat down. “ _Shoes_ —” Being a hobbit, Bilbo couldn’t help the note of disgust that slipped in his tone. “—are quite nasty and uncomfortable for hobbits.” _Much like adventures,_ Bilbo thought with amusement. “No, no, Bofur. Never imply that a hobbit wear shoes.”

“Why?” Fili plopped down beside Ori without permission.

Of course, where there was Fili, there was Kili not far away. “I mean, sure, you lot have big feet but that just means you’ll need bigger shoes! Surely you could just make them a more appropriate and comfortable size?”

Bilbo gestured to his own legs, which laid stretched out in front of him. “Hobbits are very proud of our strong soles. They can withstand almost all kinds of terrains and temperatures,” he explained, slipping into a lecture mode he often used on fauntlings. The fact that his feet so far sustained not one laceration nor burn was further proof of that. He wiggled his toes self-consciously. “Also, we need to take good care of the hair on our feet. It’s an attractive trait for hobbits, having thick beautiful tufts.” Bilbo was quite pleased with the curls on his feet, well-groomed and dense even now. “Shoes are uncomfortable especially because it often damages the hair. And they obstruct one of our proudest features.”

“Just like a dwarf’s beard and hair,” Bofur remarked, rubbing his bearded chin. Ori hurriedly jotting down some notes.

Bilbo tilted his head thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose so.”

The topic then went to braiding and hobbits’ take on it. Bilbo cheerfully informed them that only lasses even considered plaiting their curls. “And I thought you all dwarrowdams at first look,” Bilbo shared with wide innocent eyes.

The dwarrows laughed as one.

“We’ll have you know that unlike in men’s culture, our dwarrowdams are considered much scarier than a dwarf,” Kili cheerfully informed him in return. “If _Amad_ had decided to join us, she would probably defeat Smaug with her quelling glares alone.”

“Aye,” Fili agreed wholeheartedly.

The five of them were soon joined by Bifur and Bombur. Then, as the rest noticed the crowd, they slowly conjugated in their little corner until most of the Company were in the group. They each took turns in telling exciting anecdotes and meaningful tales.

Nori narrated the instance when he first met Dwalin, which involved the daughter of a barman, fist fights, torn hair and a lot of stolen goods. Bifur told the story of his first love, which was surprisingly a woman and not a dwarrowdam, and how it all ended because she wanted to castrate him to appeal to the gods she believed in (a story which Bofur happily translated for Bilbo’s benefit). Oin’s experience about separating two lovers who got stuck while romping was met with guffaws, much to Bilbo’s utter dismay. Dori’s tale of Nori’s and Ori’s embarrassing childhood moments was, of course, more than acceptable and delightful. Unfortunately for the eldest, his younger brothers reciprocated with similar tales about him.

Thorin, Balin and Dwalin were the only ones staying away from their discussions, too busy planning their path ahead or standing guard for the night.

Bilbo thought it was good night all in all. The day might have started badly but he definitely went to sleep with a light heart and a small smile.

He was, of course, constantly oblivious to the odd stares those three dwarves gave him.

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The campfire storytelling became a routine.

After supper, they would gather around and share interesting experiences and stories. Sometimes, Thorin, Dwalin and Balin joined them. Not all of them would speak each night but they were all contented to listen. He learned a lot about his companions and they learned a lot about him in return, even though he spoke little about his personal life.

And for those few hours, with the firelight encasing them in a warm intimate glow and with the cheerful anecdotes being passed around, the hobbit could pretend he truly belonged.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
> 
> Next up: Sword training!
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcomed! Kindly point out any glaring errors!
> 
> Have a love-filled day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	27. (Suicidal) Training I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING/S: Implied depression, some non-graphic violence
> 
> A/N: Man, the pace of the story is slowing down. Don’t worry! One more chapter after this and they’re at the Misty Mountains. And boy, you guys are going to be so angry at what I planned to do there.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments, favorites (300+!), follows (400+!), kudos (FREAKING 1300) and bookmarks (300+, WTF)! I really love reading your comments and actually, I get some of the ideas of the next chapters from you guys. Thanks for the inspiration!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Is anything ever truly ours? Isn’t ownership just an illusion such that we can categorize what we have that others don’t and vice versa? *continues spouting philosophical and theological BS for an hour* . . . therefore I conclude that I don’t own The Hobbit. No one owns it but the universe itself.
> 
> Enjoy~

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Bilbo opened his mouth, dutifully letting Oin peek in. The healer hummed, tilting his head this way and that.

“Is this really necessary?” the hobbit asked when Oin was done with checking his throat.

The dwarf didn’t reply, currently pressing on the nodes under Bilbo’s ears. “Does this hurt?”

Bilbo shook his head instead of answering verbally, belatedly realizing Oin didn’t have his ear trumpet. The healer again merely gave a thoughtful hum.

Aside from Bombur and Dori who were preparing breakfast, the rest of the Company were avidly watching the proceedings. It made Bilbo a bit self-conscious, especially since Thorin seemed unusually interested. Kili offered some dried nuts to Fili and Ori, which the young dwarrows happily munched on.

Oin then did a thorough inspection of the hobbit’s ears, eyes, nose, hands, scalp, feet, ribs, chest, spine, stomach, and—

“Alright, that’s quite enough, Master Oin!” Bilbo got to his feet and backed away a few steps, flustered. “I am a rather healthy hobbit. There’s nothing wrong with me down _there_ or anywhere else.” His cheeks burned when he heard the stifled chuckles from the Company.

“Aye, laddie. I see that now. Just making sure you didn’t catch anything. You can never be too careful with these things,” Oin conceded, eyes darting somewhere to the group of dwarrows to the side before focusing on the hobbit once more. “Now, let’s check that shoulder of yours.”

Bilbo sat back down, a bit touched by the healer’s concern but wary nonetheless. He held out his injured side to Oin, who proceeded to remove the sling and bandages.

And so, just three days after they snuck out of Rivendell, Bilbo’s left arm was deemed usable once more.

“How does it feel, laddie?” Oin asked, ear horn ready, as Bilbo rotated his shoulders and massaged the joints.

Bilbo opened and closed his hand, testing the feel of them. “It still twinges a bit,” he admitted. But the pain was like that of sore muscle than the needle-fire feeling that initially ran through his arm. “Nothing unbearable.” He casted a grateful smile. “Thank you, Master Oin,”

Oin waved the thanks away. “Just avoid getting into any more trouble.” Bilbo couldn’t promise that so he said nothing. “And it’s just Oin, lad.”

Before the hobbit could reciprocate, the physician already went ahead and moved on to other injured parties. Bilbo frowned confusedly at his retreating back before shaking his head in resignation.

After three days of almost nonstop hiking, Thorin finally allowed them the usual pace they had before Rivendell. Bilbo, who had been barely able to keep up, was very much thankful. They were currently taking an hour-long break after their midday meal and each dwarf was going about their own businesses. Bilbo himself planned to spend it napping under the shade of the trees. The nightly storytelling among the Company cheered him up greatly but it didn’t exactly remove his constant sleepiness or wavering appetite.

The Durin brothers appeared to have other ideas for him that afternoon.

Fili and Kili approached the hobbit with matching grins that immediately made him suspicious. And before he knew it, Bilbo was on his feet and holding his own sword with both hands. He blinked owlishly in confusion.

“All right, have at it, Bilbo!” Kili encouraged.

“Show us what you’ve got first,” Fili added, gesturing at the tree right in front of the hobbit.

The brothers apparently decided to start his sword training now that he was out of his sling. Bilbo had truly hoped they weren’t being serious when they promised but his hopes, as usual, were quickly dashed. Some of the dwarrows, who wanted entertainment, paused in their activities to watch.

“Um. Er—okay,” he said, deciding to humor them. He swung his sword as fast and as hard as he could and hit the side of the trunk with a soft thwack.

The blade clanged loudly at the impact, its vibration painfully climbing up the hilt then up Bilbo’s arm. The hobbit dropped the sword with a yelp, backing away for good measure.

Fili and Kili, plus the rest of the Company, stared at him in stunned silence. Bilbo felt a blush heating up his face.

“Wow, Bilbo,” Fili breathed. “That—That was good for your first try.”

“Wha—Really?”

“No! Mahal wept, that was horrible!” Kili exclaimed, looking quite horrified himself. “You couldn’t even keep the sword in your hand!” The young dwarf sent Bilbo a look of wonder mixed with pity. “How are you still alive?”

Bilbo shrugged, smiling slightly. “I ask that of myself every day.”

“Well.” Fili good-naturedly thumped Kili’s back. “It just means we have our work cut out for us, Kee.”

That day, Bilbo learned the proper way to grip a sword (“With both hands, Bilbo! Even though you have shockingly strong arms for your stature, two hands better for beginners.” “Why, thank you for the underhanded compliment, Kili”) and the appropriate stance to give more power to his swing. (“Spread your legs a bit and bend your knees—“ “But that’ll easily imbalance him, Kee. He has big feet. If—“). Half-an-hour into their ‘training’, Fili and Kili spent more time roughhousing with one another than actually teaching Bilbo.

The hobbit stood awkwardly in between them, unsure what to do with his sword. He lifted it up for inspection, watching as the sunlight glinted off its sharp edges. It was a last resort, he reminded himself. There were much more ingenious ways ahead of their journey and he shouldn’t settle for this. Besides, it was a good day; perhaps he would reconsider on a bad one.

Dwalin smacked both the brothers on the head, snapping Bilbo back to reality. The warrior dwarf then proceeded to drill the hobbit himself. Fili and Kili pouted at being replaced but slinked to the side and contented themselves on being observers.

“Now, yer short, lad. And yer enemies ain’t usually used to fightin’ someone smaller than them,” Dwalin lectured, guiding the hobbits arms so that his sword was slanted slightly upward. “Take advantage of that. Let ‘em charge first and—“ He jerked the Bilbo’s hands forward, startling the hobbit. “—jabbed them right in the throat.”

“Right.” Bilbo swallowed, eyes wide as he imagined doing exactly that to an orc or a goblin. He could even feel the blood dripping down his fingers and he flinched, shaking the dark thoughts out of his head.

The training continued more smoothly with Dwalin as his mentor. The other dwarrows cheered from the sidelines, laughing whenever he came close to decapitating himself or Dwalin. Even Thorin could be seen smirking from the side. Bilbo shot them a glare whenever he could. Then, the Company started throwing in a couple of ridiculous suggestions. Dwalin told them off.

“He might take ye seriously,” the burly dwarf said to the Company after Gloin recommended a particularly idiotic move.

“Mister Dwalin, ‘he’ knows basic common sense,” Bilbo retorted, a touch testy. “Can we stop already?” He didn’t even care that he was almost whining. “I can’t even move my arms anymore.” He gave a half-hearted attempt to do so for a pathetic demonstration.

“Alright, lad,” Dwalin relented, seemingly taking pity on him.

The dwarf stared at him for a moment, searching for something perhaps in his posture or appearance. Bilbo frowned at him in confusion, looking down in himself to see what was so interesting.

Then, Dwalin clapped a hand on his back. “We’ll continue tomorrow.”

Bilbo groaned and dramatically collapsed on the ground.

And so, every day after their midday meal, Bilbo was subjected to torture. They practiced for only less than an hour but every second felt like an eternity.

Dwalin wasn’t the only one teaching him. Each dwarf took turns in instructing him based on their weapon of expertise. They mostly offered useful advice than practical training since they recognized the he wasn’t going to be a weapons prodigy any time soon.

His appetite steadily increased as he expelled more energy than he thought possible. Was this why dwarrows lacked table manners? Fighting had perhaps made them too hungry to bother with such inconsequential things; at least, that was what Bilbo felt as he ate so hastily that his cheeks swelled with food. Fili and Kili teased that like that, he truly looked like a cute little woodland creature. Bilbo replied with a gesture so obscene, his mother would have probably twisted his ears had she been there.

The notion of begging off on the so-called training occurred to him belatedly. Why was he continuing this farce? He didn’t want to learn how to fight and survive!

Perhaps it was the thought of having an accident and fatally injuring himself? No, that wasn’t it. Although his heart did beat rapidly because of the adrenaline, he didn’t feel the usual excitement that comes with potential death. Besides, he knew better than to think that these dwarrows would be that careless with their weapons (he realized this just after a week into their journey so he had aptly scratched out ‘inadvertently killed by companions’ off of his list of glorious deaths). They were too experienced to let Bilbo hurt himself during training.

But as Bilbo thought further on it, his motivations became startlingly clear.

It was another way to convince himself he could belong, another way to imagine he was truly part of the Company.

He didn’t realize he could be this greedy for companionship and camaraderie. Back in Bag End, he had thought himself contented with only books for company.

He chuckled ruefully; he supposed now that he had tasted what it was like to be part of group, he couldn’t settle for anything less.

Oh well. He had only a few more days. He could indulge himself a little longer in these delusions.

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A week after they left Rivendell and three days after the hobbit’s training started, it was Nori’s turn to mentor the hobbit.

“You are not strong, Master Baggins,” the dwarf started not unkindly.

“Call me Bilbo,” the hobbit repeated to Nori for the nth time.

As usual, the thief outright ignored him. “You need to strike your enemy before they could overwhelm you. Long-distanced fighting is more advantageous to you.”

Before Bilbo could even think of a reply, Nori fished out a bulky pleated fabric from his coat. He unrolled it, revealing a row of small daggers, each as sharp and well-polished as the other. The hobbit gaped at the collection, making Nori smirk.

The dwarf drew a target on a trunk of a tree (and oh, how many trees did Bilbo have to hurt?) several feet away. Nori thoroughly instructed him about the placement of his fingers, the force of his swing, and the angle of his arm.

Bilbo’s first try hit the tree dead-on but hilt first. So did his second and third tries. He used his left hand for his fourth try and it was a bit better but the blade embedded itself out of the drawn target. The fifth, sixth, seventh and eight tries produced frustrating results but still better than his fourth. The ninth try led him to somewhat of a victory; the dagger hit the very center of the target, half-inch deep into the trunk.

He heard some enthusiastic claps from the other dwarrows but he turned to Nori, grinning.

The dwarf whistled, looking impressed. “You sure you didn’t have any prior experience? No beginner could do that in a few tries,” he commented, eyeing the hobbit shrewdly.

“We have a biannual game in the Shire—conkers. The goal is to hit and destroy the coconut shells of your enemy while protecting your own. So you really need to have a good aim to win. And you’re looking at the champion for five years straight,” Bilbo couldn’t help but boast. He could still recall the proud delighted faces of his parents whenever he brought back the first-place trophy. “I haven’t played in a while so I suppose I am a bit rusty.”

“Do you think you’ll be good at archery then?” Kili piped up. “I can teach you tomorrow.”

“Nah.” Nori shook his head. “Throwing something with your hand is a bit different from using a bow. I think Master Baggins will be better served in practicing the former.”

“I can still teach him!”

Bilbo, as it turned out, was utterly atrocious at archery. The arrows, if they ever left the bow, sailed high up in air and leagues away from the target. Kili sulked and deemed it a lost cause after several tries. Bilbo apologized profusely but was glad they stopped when they did; his hands were already blistering in several places. And even with the protective glove Kili had lent him, his left forearm still felt tender with the hits it received from the bowstring.

“Don’t mind him,” Fili said, applying a soothing salve on the hobbit’s fingers. “Axe, sword or hammer have always been the usual weapon of choice for a dwarf.” He wrapped small strips of bandages around each digit. “Many ostracized him when he chose bow and arrow. It’s an elf’s weapon, you see.” There was a tinge of anger in his voice but the pain present seemed a bit too old to hurt now. “They saw how good he is at it though, so the insults stopped quickly. But I guess he still wanted to find someone to share the same interest and skill as him.”

Bilbo frowned confusedly at him. He took his hands back, realizing Fili was done bandaging them. “Even though I’m a hobbit? And that hobbits don’t really have weapons of choice?”

Fili laughed, straightening. “Why, Bilbo! Did no one tell you? You’re an honorary dwarf now,” he said followed by a conspiratorial wink. With that, the dwarf walked away to find his moping brother.

Bilbo was left blinking rapidly in puzzlement, wondering what to make of Fili's jest.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
> 
> Next up: More sword training! But with a certain dwarf . . . ;)
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcomed! Kindly point out any glaring errors!
> 
> Have a love-filled day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	28. (Suicidal) Training II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING/S: Implied depression, crack-ish
> 
> A/N: Classes just started up again so my updates might slow down a bit. But my muse is still here so it’ll be good for few more chapters.
> 
> Skywolf42: Thank you for that info about archery! My noob-iness is showing. I actually did some research after I read your comment and wow, yeah, those will be some painful bruises. I already edited the last chapter to address it. Thanks again! ^_^
> 
> twenty5th_night: Oh! The two dwarves in that chapter is Dwalin and Thorin. Thorin just ordered Dwalin to follow Bilbo and Elrond, and didn’t follow them himself. So, it was just Dwalin who eavesdropped. ^_^
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments, favorites (300+!), follows (400+!), kudos (FREAKING 1300) and bookmarks (300+, WTF)! Thank you for all the people that corrected any errors in the last chapter! And for some of the comments, thanks to you, I have an idea on what to do about Smaug (if I ever reach those chapters)!  
> DISCLAIMER: Is anything ever truly ours? Isn’t ownership just an illusion such that we can categorize what we have that others don’t and vice versa? *continues spouting philosophical and theological BS for an hour* . . . therefore I conclude that I don’t own The Hobbit. No one owns it but the universe itself.
> 
> Italicized “Blah” = Khuzdul
> 
> Enjoy~

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_“He should be showing visible symptoms now had he been afflicted with some mortal sickness.”_

Dwalin paused in shoveling gruel in his mouth. He followed Balin’s gaze to the hobbit practicing his swings meters away. He continued eating even as he replied, _“Yeah, ‘e should be. The trainin’ he’s goin’ through is not for the faint of heart.”_

 _“Oin had deemed him fit and healthy,”_   Thorin said, expertly polishing Orcrist with a worn-out rag. _“A bit underweight but that is by dwarvish standards. Unless halfling physiology differs vastly from a dwarf’s, I would say that he is not sick at all.”_

 _“Then how would ye explain his conversation with the elf?”_ Dwalin asked.

 _“Perhaps you’ve misheard?”_ Balin offered. _“Or missed something of importance?”_

Dwalin grunted and shook his head. _“I’ve not misheard anythin’. And why else would the tree-shagger insist on making the burglar stay?”_

Thorin made a sound of irritation. _“Then we ask Master Baggins ourselves. Elrond had said whatever afflicts the halfling affects our quest.”_

 _“And you believe him?”_   Balin looked doubtful.

 _“Not fully.”_   The dwarf king lifted his sword, inspecting it for any faults or chips. _“But if there’s even a possibility that the burglar would hinder our mission, I’m not going to risk it.”_

Dwalin snorted, swallowing the last of his food. _“Go on then. Confront ‘im.”_ He swept a hand towards the general direction of the said hobbit.

Thorin cocked an unimpressed brow. _“Don’t be foolish, Dwalin. He’s as tight-lipped as Fili and Kili on one of their pranks. I doubt I’ll get anything substantial when his guard is up.”_

Disbelief colored Balin’s and Dwalin’s faces. _“He is?”_   Master Baggins had not exactly been chatty at times but he certainly shared a fair amount of stories of his own.

 _“Aye,”_ Sharp blue eyes glanced at the hobbit. _“He can barely lie but he’s so good at twisting words that you wouldn’t suspect anything amiss. When he doesn’t want to talk about something, he evades ever so subtly and gradually changes the subject. He stutters but I think it’s more from nerves than actual loss of words. He can certainly be eloquent when he wants to be.”_   Thorin shot Balin a look of amusement mixed with the faintest trace of admiration. _“A silver-tongued wordsmith that even you would be proud of.”_

Dwalin’s eyebrows practically flew to his hairline. Balin mirrored the gesture. _“And you know this how? I’ve never even seen you talk to him.”_

Thorin rolled his eyes, finally sheathing his sword. _“I listen. I observe. As a good king would.”_

Dwalin took a long gulp from his wineskin before muttering, _“I think when it comes to the burglar, ye observe too much.”_

 _“What was that?”_ Thorin frowned at his friend.

 _“Nothin’.”_ Dwalin said with a faux innocent grin. Then, he caught the questioning stare the burglar directed at their group. But when the hobbit saw the dwarf staring back, he turned away and went back to practicing. _“Ah, shite. We need to discuss this one later. I forgot that it’s my turn to babysit him.”_

Then, an idea sparked in the dwarf’s mind. He elbowed Thorin. _“Why don’t ye do it?”_

 _“What?”_   The leader of the Company looked at Dwalin as if he just implied he was an orc.

Dwalin, in turn, merely shrugged. _“Yer a good teacher. Fili and Kili can attest to that. Master Baggins can certainly learn a thing or two from ye.”_

 “ _Do not think I’m unaware of what you’re planning,”_ Thorin said, pointing an accusing finger towards the other dwarf. _“If you’re too lazy to—“_

 _“I ain’t planning anything,”_   Dwalin replied with all the innocence of a convicted thief. _“It’s just, everybody has already lent a hand in his trainin’. Surely as the leader, ye must set an example?”_ he challenged. _“Shouldn’t let the subjects do all the work.”_

Thorin stared blankly at his friend for several moments. Then, he sighed, half-resigned, half-irritated. He stood up and looked down on Dwalin with narrowed eyes. “ _I’m going because you’ve probably been teaching him techniques that could get him and the whole Company killed._ ” Which was another way of sulkily saying, “I’m going but not because you told me to.”

Dwalin grinned. Just imply and/or mention duty and Thorin would likely comply. _“I’m sure that’s it,”_ he said in a tone that belied otherwise.

Thorin huffed in one last act of defiance. Then, he set his shoulders and marched towards the hobbit with a determined expression.

Balin sent an inquiring look to his brother. Dwalin merely continued grinning.

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“You make too many unnecessary movements.”

Bilbo had been practicing his swings, waiting for Dwalin to finish his meal so they could begin their usual drills. Instead, he found himself blinking nonplussed at Thorin, blade midway through a particularly harsh strike. The leader of the Company crossed his arms, staring expectantly.

The hobbit turned to his sword then to Thorin. Then, back at his sword once more. He waved the weapon like one would wave a flagpole, moving as little limbs as possible. The whole scene probably looked ridiculous. He stared at Thorin with a deadpan expression.

Thorin glowered at Bilbo, knowing the halfling was being difficult. Bilbo shrugged nonchalantly in response. The dwarf blew out a sigh of frustration before he stomped towards the hobbit.

“Show me your swing.”

Bilbo sighed but raised his hands to do just that. He cursed Dwalin in his head for passing the responsibility of his training to one dwarven king. If he didn’t want to teach the hobbit, he should have just said so! Bilbo was more than happy to take a break.

“Stop,” Thorin ordered just as Bilbo started his downward strike.

He pushed Bilbo’s elbows in, shifted his shoulders, and twisted his hips. The touches left lingering impressions upon the hobbit’s skin, tiny pinpricks running under his flesh. He wasn’t used on receiving casual touches from this certain dwarf.

 _But would you want to?_ and _You weren’t nearly this conscious with Mister Dwalin_ simultaneously sounded in his mind.

Bilbo blinked in bewilderment but before he could ponder further on it, Thorin gruffed out a “Go,” and broke him away from his musings.

The hobbit complied and attacked. “Again.” Thorin corrected Bilbo’s stance once more, hoping to input it in the hobbit’s muscle memory. “Don’t move your shoulders. Twist your whole torso. Use the momentum as your hips rotate.”

Bilbo tried to follow the instructions, he really did. While the words might had meaning separately, they were strung together in a manner that made no sense to him. After repeating the same words several times, Thorin seemed to realize this. The dwarf drew out his own sword and for a moment, Bilbo thought he was going to get killed because of his incompetence. His possible last thought was _Fili and Kili are going to be so sad it was their uncle that offed me._

However, Thorin merely took a stance, holding his own elven sword with both hands. “Watch.” And the wind whistled sharply as Thorin demonstrated a swift and powerful side-swing attack. His sword actually blurred before Bilbo’s eyes.

Impressed, the hobbit tried to imitate the move. Unfortunately, all he could do was a pitiful mimicry. Thorin didn’t take the opportunity to insult him, however. He simply commented on Bilbo’s bearing. Then, he patiently demonstrated the proper swing again; this time, his movements were slower and exaggerated to let Bilbo catch on.

The hobbit frowned in concentration, repeating the swing over and over until he got the hang of it. After a while, he need not worry about his stance or movements as his body automatically positioned itself without conscious thought.

“Very good.” Thorin nodded in approval. “You fight more like a tween than a toddler now.”

Bilbo cocked an amused brow and said, “And here I thought you were about to pay me a compliment.”

“I’m afraid that you have a long way to go before you earn a higher praise.” Thorin lifted an unimpressed brow in return.

“What do I have to do? Defeat Smaug? Eradicate an army of orcs? Or maybe I just have to annoy some elves?” Bilbo found himself teasing as he positioned himself for a jab.

Thorin’s lips twisted in a smirk and the hobbit immediately dreaded the next words that would come out of the dwarf’s mouth. “I didn’t know you seek my approval that badly, Master Baggins.”

“I-I do not!” Bilbo spluttered, fighting down a blush. He lifted his chin, huffing as he darted the tip of his sword towards empty air and pretending a certain dwarf king was actually standing there. “You’ll find, Master Oakenshield, that I care not a whit for what you think of me.”

The statement was quite true so Bilbo didn’t know why Thorin, curse him, looked wholly unconvinced. The hobbit would have to add ‘egocentric’ on his sarcastic list of ‘Thorin Oakenshield’s Finer Qualities’, right under ‘condescending arse’.

A large warm hand suddenly grabbed Bilbo’s wrist before he could do another stab. Bilbo sent a questioning look to Thorin, ignoring the prickly sensation running through his right hand.

“You’re done with the swings.” Thorin removed his grip on the hobbit and stepped forward until he was directly facing him. He raised his own elven sword, hefting it with one hand. “Let’s see if you can apply them to a moving and defending target.”

The hobbit stared at him, puzzled. “Mister Dwalin said it’s too risky for me to spar with anyone yet.”

“And you’ll never learn to properly do so if we don’t start,” the dwarf said bluntly. “Come on then, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo sighed again but held his sword with both hands and took a stance. “This is revenge, isn’t it? Just because I made you realize the some people’s lives don’t actually revolve around you, you plan to kill me and make it look like a sparring accident.” Fili and Kili would definitely disapprove if Bilbo died that way.

“Too much work. If I wanted you dead, I would rather throw you down the mountains and onto the rocks. Much easier and cleaner for my sword,” Thorin deadpanned.

Bilbo goggled at the dwarf. Did he just . . . The hobbit let out a startled laugh. “Careful, Master Oakenshield. I’m starting to think you have a sense of humor.”

“You’ll find, Master Baggins,” Thorin started, getting into an offensive position. “That I care not a whit for what you think of me,” he finished, mouth twitching in what could generously be called a smile.

Of course, to have the last word, the dwarf decided to attack before the hobbit could form a proper reply. Bilbo instinctively raised his sword to parry the strike and their swords clashed, producing a shrill metallic sound.

Never moving from his place, Thorin adjusted the bent angle of Bilbo’s elbows with his free hand. The new position decreased the stress on Bilbo’s wrists and instead distributed it through both arms.

The dwarf pushed his sword forward to test the hobbit’s strength and Bilbo was surprised to find his arms barely moved. Huh. Thorin was probably holding back but the hobbit deluded himself into thinking he was improving. Which . . . was actually quite bad since his chances of survival just increased.

 _Oh dear, perhaps I should stop this before I—_ His train of thought halted whenThorin nodded and backed away, only to strike in another direction. Bilbo blocked the attack once more and the dwarf did minimal corrections.

The rest of the training went pretty much the same way. Other times, Bilbo came close to maiming Thorin but the dwarf never seemed to be in danger of harming the hobbit himself. Thorin didn’t plan to kill him after all.

At the end of the session, Bilbo’s heart was pounding out of his ribcage and his muscles were more tender than usual. But he felt very productive indeed.

He grinned at Thorin, wiping the sweat on his forehead with the sleeve of his tunic. “Thank you, Master Oakenshield. It’s been quite interesting.” The fact that this was perhaps the first time they had been civil with one another for more than a few minutes contributed to that.

Thorin cocked a brow, the corner of his lips twitching. “Of course, Master Baggins. Hopefully with a bit more training, you will be less likely to get any of the Company killed.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes, sheathing his sword. He faced Thorin, fists on his hips. “’You’re welcome’ will do, you know.”

Thorin smirked but merely walked away without saying another word.

“Insufferable,” Bilbo muttered under his breath.

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They didn’t become friends, per se.

Thorin was unofficially assigned to train the hobbit once every week. Bilbo admitted that he enjoyed their sessions more than most because of their banter. He was delightfully astonished to find out that Thorin did indeed have a sense of humor and had quite a witty manner of expressing it.

They didn’t seek each other’s company outside of that but what little interaction they had was more or less amicable. They no longer glared whenever they lock gazes, never outwardly insulted one another, and never created any more friction between them.

Meanwhile, training with other dwarrows continued on as usual. Nori had even given him two of his precious daggers when Bilbo had proven to be a skilled enough thrower. Bilbo learned a few things about fighting with a hammer, mattock and axe. Eventually, the Company decided that he would be better off focusing on sword and daggers and trained him thus.

Bilbo was quite contented with it. He had friends and he had not-quite-friends.

On the good days, he wished they would be locked away in these precious moments for eternity.

On the bad days, well, he wished that he perish before everything inevitably falls apart.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
> 
> P.S.: Do you see how excited I am to write BOTFA?
> 
> Next up: Far over the Misty Mountains cold . . . 
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcomed! Kindly point out any glaring errors!
> 
> Have a love-filled day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	29. (Suicidal) Attempt: Misty Mountains I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING/S: Implied depression, crack-ish, angst (I guess . . .)
> 
>  **A/N:** This was supposed to be two chapters but then I said to myself, “What if I be a little mean?” And now it’s only one chapter because you guys are going to kill me because of where I ended it.
> 
> Thank you for all the comments, favorites, bookmarks, kudos, follows and subscribes (?) (whoa, I just discovered that)! Also, thank you for the people who corrected my grammar in the previous chapters! A lot are because of my carelessness (and laziness) but sometimes, I realize my whole life is a lie because I grew up believing that’s the right saying/grammar in English. Thanks for correcting me!
> 
> You guys are my inspiration ^_^
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER:** They’re taking the hobbits to Isen—Nope, they’re taking them to my house. Yup, they’re mine now. All mine. My pre~ciouses~ *gets punched in the face by BAMF hobbits* *hobbits escape* No! Come back!
> 
> Enjoy~

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Three weeks after leaving Rivendell and travelling towards the Misty Mountains, warg howls echoed in the distance, bone-chilling and too loud for comfort.

It had sent the whole Company in a panic. Thorin set a relentless pace that day, hoping to put a substantial distance between them and their supposed pursuers. They didn’t stop for their usual hour-long break and didn’t stop for camp until the sun had fully sunk.

Starting a fire might give away their position so they had to endure dry and hard cram for dinner. Furthermore, they were high above ground and close to the snow-capped mountains; the air was cold and biting without their usual campfire. Their breaths came out as crystalized clouds, teeth chattering and bodies trembling. Families huddled together in the dark, sharing coats and blankets. They forwent their storytelling for the night, too exhausted for any kind of cheer.

It put the entire Company in a considerably miserable mood.

Bilbo himself shivered violently, always prone to the cold ever since the Fell Winter. He tightened his blanket and overcoat around him, curling into a loose ball to preserve heat. He created riddles, poem, and songs in his mind, hoping that he might convince himself that he wasn’t feeling cold at all.

“Bilbo, what are you doing over there?” The voice was a mere whisper, the ambience too heavy with terror for anything more than that.

Two pairs of hands dragged him and his bed roll. Immediately, warmth engulfed him as two furnaces settled on his either side.

“Wha?” Bilbo groggily looked around. He couldn’t see much in the dark but he felt heavy blankets and the coarse fabric of furred coats drape upon his skin. “F-Fili? Kili?”

“We’re here,” two voices answered. Hands wrapped around waists and feet tangled together under the sheets. The hobbit warmed up considerably in no time at all.

Bilbo could feel breaths puffing at the back of his neck and atop his curls, could feel chests moving and hearts beating. He felt wisps of warmth from the other dwarrows nearby, tightly and closely packed they were together. He sighed in contentment, heat seeping in his body along with a sense comfort and security only intimate contact could give.

The thought of resisting or pushing them away briefly crossed his mind; it was truly improper to be this close to someone that wasn’t family. But with the memories of the Fell Winter so near the surface and with welcome warmth being freely offered to him, he found that he couldn’t care less. Fili and Kili certainly didn’t seem to mind.

A bird’s wings fluttered. The footfalls of Gloin, Dori and Thorin sounded obscenely loud as they circled around the camp to check for any threats. Some cloth rustled nearby.

“Do you think they’ll catch up to us?” Kili murmured softly. The taste of fear and anticipation was in the air, tainting every breath they took.

“You’ve shot them down before, haven’t you?” Bilbo whispered tiredly. “If they do catch up, you’ll just have to defeat them again.” They didn’t exactly defeat them the last time but Kili needn’t be reminded of that semantic.

“Bilbo’s right. Stop worrying, Kee.”

“I’m not worried,” Kili insisted.

“You shouldn’t be,” Bilbo slurred, eyes drifting close and mind flying away. He nuzzled closer towards the soothing heat, arms tightening around the warm body before him. “They can’t hurt us. We’ll be safe here,” he echoed as sleep claimed him.

_“Don’t you worry, love. They can’t hurt us. We’ll be safe here,” says Mother with a reassuring smile even as you hear the scratching noises and low growls by the barricaded front door._

_Father is tense, a rake held in one hand. He stands protectively over two of his precious people._

_For you, there are stones gathered around your feet; they won’t be much use in defeating anything but they will give time for escape._

_The three of you hold your breaths._

_Then, the sounds stop and the fear in the air clears._

_So cold . . . so very cold . . ._

_Your eyelids were heavy weights and you can’t open them. There is phlegm in your lungs and you could feel it congesting in your throat. You feel the blankets on you but they do nothing to lessen the cold that seems to stem from your very soul._

_“ . . . running out of firewood.”_

_“ . . . fever’s rising. We need to get . . .”_

_“The Brandywine River froze over and wolves . . .”_

_Your chest hurts every time you breathe, and oh, how it hurts. You wish you didn’t need to breathe. You feel heat emanating from you but where is it going? It’s cold and you need it so much and why is it going away?_

_“Love, just hold on for a few days. It’s going to be alright.” A mother’s caress. “Everything’s going to be fine. We’re going to get some help.”_

_“I’ll be back with the healer, son.” A kiss on the forehead, a hair ruffle. “Stay strong for me, yeah?”_

_You feebly raised a hand, gripping a sleeve. “Don’t—“ There are wolves out there. They will find you and they will tear you apart and we will be waiting and waiting for the relieving news that will never come—_

A series of wet coughs tore Bilbo out of his dreams, his whole body shaking with the action.

Fili and Kili instantly woke up, bodies jerking with a start. They lifted their heads to search for danger, hands going to their respective weapons.

Bilbo hurried to assure them. “It-It’s alright. There—“ A cough belatedly followed the others. “There’s no danger. I-I’m sorry to have woken you.” His voice sounded hoarse. His throat felt a lot like something crawled and died there.

The brothers relaxed back onto their bed rolls.

“Are you well?” Kili rubbed the hobbit’s back in soothing circles. “That sounded bad.”

It certainly was chest-racking. “Yes, j-just the cold air, I’m afraid.” He cleared his throat but the itch at the back of it refused to abate. “It’ll pass as I get used to it.”

“If you’re sure.” Fili sounded dubious. But Bilbo knew the three of them were far too sleepy to make a big deal out of it.

“Yes, I am,” Bilbo said firmly. He let out a sigh. “Let’s go back to sleep. We’ll need all the rest that we can get for tomorrow.”

“You’re right.” Kili snuggled further into the back of Bilbo’s coat. “Uncle’ll probably push us to our limit. He said we’ll arrive at the mountain on the morn.”

With that, as if a lever had been flipped, the boys fell asleep as instantly as they had roused. Unfortunately, it took a long time before Bilbo could follow them to slumber. The dream he had plagued his thoughts and he had to stamp down any incoming coughs lest he woke the boys again. Even when they made no sound, the coughs produced an exploding ache between his ribs.

It took a while but he finally fell into an uneasy sleep.

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The next morning, Bilbo wakened with heavy limbs and a bastard of a headache.

Safe to say, it put him in quite a mood early in the morning. Already, this was shaping up to be somewhat of a bad day.

He talked in noncommittal noises and forced smiles. Thankfully, because the previous day’s anxiety and exhaustion transferred to the next, the Company had their own worries to nurse. They failed to notice Bilbo’s temperament.

Well, to be exact, some did notice but they chalked it up to him being worried about the orcs and wargs like them. They thought nothing more of it.

The hobbit, meanwhile, trudged on, struggling to put one foot beyond the other.  But he marched on without complaint. His dream that night invoked in him a determination he had almost forgotten.

He hated himself for choosing temporary joy over what would be a blissful end. He chastised himself for living in a foolish fantasy. His dream about his parents had reminded him the goal he had been neglecting for so long. As much as he liked spending time with the dwarrows, he knew they would realize something, anything, about him that would end all association. He knew it would happen sooner or later. He would rather meet his parents again; at least with them, he would likely be welcomed with open and loving arms.

 _Today_ , he decided with grim and solidified resolve. He had tarried long enough. _No matter what, it would be today._

And so, it was with this mindset that Bilbo arrived at the base of the mountain. As the hobbit looked up, he couldn’t help but smile in relief. He had thought he would have to abandon his wish for a _glorious_ death and just settle for a good old sword to the gut at the end of the day. But they’ve finally arrived as promised.

 _Steep cliffs, sharp rocks, deep ravines_. The Misty Mountains would be his salvation.

This close, the mountains loomed threateningly over the whole Company, obscuring the late morning sun. Even though they haven’t started climbing, he could already feel the cold nipping at his skin. The snow-capped tips of the mountains painted the gray stones a tragically beautiful white. Bilbo stared at them in awe, a sense of contentment settling in him at the notion of dying at such striking place.

He covered another wet cough with his hand, wincing as the action worsened his headache and the ache in chest. He tasted phlegm at the back of his throat and he sighed. Of course, it was just his luck that he would be plagued by a cold on his last day.

Bifur said something harsh and sharp and Bilbo turned to him with a bewildered frown. The dwarf seemed to be bemoaning at the rolls of ropes on his hands.

“We don’t have enough rope,” Ori fortunately translated, voice somber for the first time. The hobbit had always heard him speak in cheerful or curious tones. “When our ponies bolted, they took some of our supplies and now, we’re lacking in rope.”

“Why do we need rope?” Bilbo couldn’t help but ask. He had never crossed mountains before so he couldn’t think of any use for it.

Ori appeared taken aback by the question or perhaps by Bilbo’s obliviousness but answered nonetheless. “We need to have one long rope that connects all fourteen of us. It will be securely tied to our waists.” Here, Ori mimed the action. “That way, if ever one of us falls, we can easily pull him back up. It’s to ensure we don’t lose anyone.”

Bilbo’s eyes had continued to widen at every word. “Wh-What do we do? Now that we don’t have enough rope?” Yavanna, he couldn’t be tied with the Company! How was he supposed to jump or slip to his death? Bilbo was certainly not planning to take anyone with him. Mayhaps he could use the dagger Nori gave him to discreetly cut the rope around him . . .

Ori shook his head. “I don’t know.” The dwarf glimpsed nervously at Thorin, Balin, Dwalin, Gloin, and Oin who were privately discussing their next step. Then, he brought his gaze back to Bilbo. “Are you alright, Bilbo? Your voice sounds a bit off.”

“I’m fine,” the hobbit reassured even as he heard the roughness in his voice. He threw in a forced smile for added measure. “Just the cold air, I’m afraid. It takes some getting used to.”

Ori nodded in sympathy. He had opened his mouth to say something more but fortunately, Thorin’s group chose that moment to disperse.

“We move on,” Thorin announced but he didn’t look pleased. “Without the rope, it would perilous climb but it is more dangerous to let the orc pack catch up to us.” There were some murmurs of agreement among the Company. “We will go, slowly and carefully. Watch your steps and the steps of the dwarrows—“ Thorin’s gaze lingered on Bilbo. “—or halfling next to you.” Bilbo found himself having the energy to roll his eyes but didn’t bother correcting the dwarf for the nth time. It won’t matter. “Look out for each other.”

“Aye,” the dwarrows answered soberly.

Bilbo was glad he didn’t have the assurance of the rope. But at the same time, he was worried because the dwarrows didn’t have it too. He just hoped they were more graceful and coordinated than they let on.

With that, they started scaling the shaky pathways around the Misty Mountains.

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A thunderstorm pelted the mountains and consequently, the Company.

The raindrops were fat and large, landing hard enough on skin to bruise. Snow mixed with the rain, dotting the Company with both white and cold spots. The lightning lit up the night sky so brightly that it momentarily appeared daylight. The thunder that followed deafened the Company to anything else.

Bilbo’s curls plastered to his forehead and his clothes stuck to him like a second skin. He stopped feeling his toes and fingertips an hour ago; at least this way, the cuts and bruises he gained while climbing pained him no more. The tips of his ears stung and he bet they were probably turning a bit blue. The rest of his appendages felt like they were underwater and it took an insurmountable amount of will to move them.

Again, Gloin had kindly lent Bilbo a cloak but he shivered still. The wind attacked in all directions that even with the hood on, Bilbo’s head and face were drenched. The coat was less useful than it was hours ago but the hobbit was just thankful it kept away the sharp edges of the cold.

He hopefully looked down at the abyss so deep, darkness shrouded it before it could end. The trail was so narrow that Bilbo just had to recline a bit ahead and it would be over.

 _Maybe this time . . ._ He thought hysterically and let himself slip on a loose rock. He didn’t even have to pretend. The constant bouts of dizziness that assaulted him had done everything for him. _It’s raining so hard. Maybe this time they won’t notice._

His whole body lost its balance and he fought down the instinct to pinwheel his arms to regain his footing. The wind whipped his face and his breath left him in a _whoosh_ at the sight of the darkness he was meeting _._ All he could hear was the loud beats of his heart, which would soon stop. He was falling and falling and finally—

Then, his descent stopped abruptly as broad hands grabbed onto his pack. Those hands proceeded to shove him backwards until his spine laid flat on the cliff face. For added protection, a palm was placed on his chest, forcing him to stable ground.

 “Careful, laddie!” Dwalin shouted to be heard above the deluge, sounding irritated. “This is the fifth time! Watch your step!”

Bofur shot the hobbit a worried glance himself. He patted the hobbit’s chest, as if to assure himself that Bilbo was still there, before dropping his arm and moving forward.

The fifth time—The fifth bloody time he attempted to jump so that he could finally achieve an ingenious death. The fifth bloody time a hand had pulled him back before death could claim him.

Tears of frustration burned his eyes. Why can’t they just let him die? Death was literally a step ahead and they were robbing him of that step. He wanted to lash out and to ask them to stop being bloody noble and let him fall! He had been patient, had not wanted to die with transgressions against any of the Company. But now, he wished to scream and insult them in the hopes that they would push him off the ledge themselves.

He had half a mind to do it too (Later, Bilbo would think on how cruel he had been at that moment, to desire one of his friends to dirty their hands with his demise).

But before he could make his choice, Dwalin screamed a “Look up!”

Everyone’s heads whipped up, faces frightened and grim.

A boulder the size of a small house flew in the air and hit the mountainside right above their path. It shattered into a million debris and rained on the Company in life-threatening chunks.

Bilbo gripped Bofur tightly, fearing the dwarf might get caught in one of the rocks and join its fall. He fervently prayed to Yavanna, as he heard the dwarrows’ shouts, that none of the Company would meet a similar fate.

“This is no thunderstorm,” he heard Balin’s shocked voice. “This is a thunder-battle! Look!”

And look they did. Bilbo stared with wide awed eyes at chunks of rocks _moving_ until they formed humanoid shapes—humanoid shapes the height and the size of the mountains, that was.

“Bless me. The legends are true.” Bofur breathed out in amazed astonishment. “Giants! Stone-giants!”

The next events blurred in a mixture of slippery rocks, assailing rain, and desperate cries. If Bilbo had been less disoriented, he would have taken the opportunity to fulfill his goal. As it was, he merely allowed the dwarrows on his either side grappled at him with protective hands.

The pathways under their feet transformed into the knees of a stone-giant and suddenly, they were out of the mountain itself. Nausea built up in the hobbit’s stomach and he fought off the urge to throw up.

The Company split into two groups and each were frightened for the fate of the other. The stone-giants fought with each other, unheeding of their passengers’ despair.

“Kili, grab my hand!”

Bilbo’s heart stopped. He tried to look for the boys amidst the dark, the rain, and moving stones. Where were they? _Oh Eru, please keep them safe, keep all of them safe._

“FILI!” he heard Kili’s voice scream with dismay.

Bilbo lost sight of everything as he and the dwarrows with him headed towards the cliff face. A conveniently jutting rock stopped the giant’s knee at the right angle, preventing them from being crushed to death. The momentum of the stop bowled them off the giant’s knee and onto, of all the luck, a wide trail. The dwarrows fell onto stable and unmoving stones with pained groans and sighs of relief.

The stone-giant’s battle fortunately moved farther away from them; they were no longer caught in the crossfire.

Bilbo’s experience was quite different. The momentum pushed him hard enough to smack into the mountain’s sides. The impact forced him to roll backwards and out of the safety of stable ground.

His self-preservation kicked in (at the worst time, Bilbo would later think) as the blackness below filled his vision. His hands came up instinctively to scrabble for purchase before he could fall further. He found it, fingers digging into the stones that made up the ledge He winced as little rocks buried themselves under his fingernails and as his arms strained against his and his pack’s combined weight.

Then, he promptly asked himself _what in Yavanna’s name was he doing?_ This was the perfect opportunity! A fall into the deep dark ravine was exactly one of the glorious deaths on his list. No dwarrow could possibly save him now.

Above, he saw Thorin dashing towards the rest of the Company, followed by the other separated members. “Fili!” Bilbo saw the dwarf’s shoulders sagged in respite when he realized his nephew was safe. Kili pushed past his uncle to hug his brother, too worried about Fili to think of anything else.

“It’s all right! They’re alive!” someone shouted, delight palpable in their voice.

They were all safe, Bilbo noted. All thirteen dwarrows had survived. He could almost cry in relief. He truly thought that they were about to lose someone. He sent a grateful prayer to all the Valar listening.

Then, emerald eyes flicked to the blackness below. The intimidation he initially felt at the sight slowly ebbed away. A morbid sort of glee replaced it, similar to the delight he felt at the troll’s threats.

This was it.

The Company was all alive and safe. They had yet to notice him missing. By then, it would be too late. His glee dampened a bit as his thoughts wandered to Fili and Kili. But he backtracked before he could think further. _They would quickly move on,_ he told himself. _They are young still. In a few months, they would probably remember as that eccentric little halfling that they once shared a laugh with._ He wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ let the notion of those dwarrows stop him.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling an enormous weight lifting off his shoulders. Bilbo wondered distantly whether he could actually fly because of the lightness he felt at that moment.

He whispered a soft goodbye, the wind swallowing the sounds as soon as they came out.

And he let go.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
> 
> And that concludes The Hobbit: A Suicidal Journey! *bows* Thank you all for staying with this story ‘till its end. I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope you had a lot of fun reading it. I never expected it to end this way but I’m glad Bilbo finally got what he wanted. I – *gets shot*
> 
> Okay, okay, fine. This is not the end. It’s a cliffhanger. Bilbo is the cliffhanger. CLIFFHANGER! Hahaha, get it? *gets stabbed*
> 
> Sorry, it’s like 2 AM here and I feel so giggly.
> 
> Next up: Something that terrifies Bilbo
> 
> Also, I might not be able to update for about a month. If I don't update after that, school work has killed me. Avenge me, please.
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcomed! Kindly point out any glaring errors!
> 
> Have a cute-filled day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	30. (Suicidal) Attempt: Misty Mountains II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Yo, guys! I'M STILL ALIVE, YEAH! But unfortunately, school is still taking up too much of my time. I don't want to leave you guys . . . hanging . . . any longer than necessary. So here is a VERY SHORT update.
> 
> Thank you for all the encouragements, favorites, bookmarks, kudos, and follows! :D Hope this chapter does not disappoint.
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER:** They're taking the hobbits to Isen—Nope, they're taking them to my house. Yup, they're mine now. All mine. My pre~ciouses~ *gets punched in the face by BAMF hobbits* *hobbits escape* No! Come back!

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"Where's Bilbo? Where's the hobbit?" Bofur frantically whipped his head to and fro but saw neither honeyed curls nor emerald eyes.

The others were slow to react to his panic, too relieved to be alive themselves.

That was why Bofur was the first one to spot Bilbo amidst the chaos; he found the hobbit hanging on for dear life at the edges of the trail. Bofur's eyes widened with terror, mindlessly pushing the dwarrows out of his way to get closer. He was about to call attention to the endangered member of the Company.

Then, the hobbit's fingers went lax on their grip of the stones, making Bofur's voice catch on his throat.

The hatted dwarf didn't think. He didn't get the chance to.

He dived down, chest skidding on the rocks. His torso and everything above the knee went beyond stable ground and into the frightening air but that didn't matter because Bilbo was falling and falling—

He caught both the hobbit's wrists before they went out of reach. He immediately wedged his feet into the uneven stones of the trail, hoping to find something that would stop both their descents. He was successful but only just; the slightest change of the wind could literally unbalance them.

"Bofur!" Bilbo gaped up at the dwarf. "N-No, no, no, let me go, Bofur!"

"It's alright, Bilbo," Bofur assured even as he felt his feet moving incrementally away from safety. Mahal, he hoped the others had already noticed their predicament. "They're going to pull us  _both_  up."

Bombur noticed Bofur's precarious position just moments later. He cried out and hurried to pull his brother up. The nearby dwarrows immediately jerked into action. They reached for the dwarf's boots and—

Thorin spotted the hobbit a split-second after Bofur did.

"Get him!" He bellowed, startling the others into wondering who exactly they were getting.

Their realization crept in gradually, precious seconds wasted. By then, Thorin had already jumped down and found an unstable foothold just below the pathway. One hand clutched tightly to the rocks for added support. He had intended to shove the halfling upward and let the others drag him all the way up to safety.

But when he looked again, he saw that Bofur had joined the halfling in dangling off the ledge. Thorin cursed but reached out a hand for them.

The second Thorin's fingers enclosed around the material of the hobbit's cloak, Bofur lost whatever foothold he had. Bombur and the other dwarrows only managed to reach out to the empty space where Bofur's feet had been.

The hobbit and hatted dwarf yelped as their positions reversed; Bilbo held onto Bofur while Thorin took the opportunity to wrap an arm around the hobbit's waist.

"Bofur! Hold on,  _hold on_!" the halfling practically screamed, knuckles white from his tenacious grasp around the dwarf's arms.

Thorin found himself having to support two bodies instead of one. Even as he persevered, he couldn't muster enough strength to carry their weights  _and_  maintain his balance on feeble ground. He cursed once more, unheeding of the cuts blooming on his fingers as he struggled to hold on for as long as he could. Before his grip on the stones fully slipped, he felt hands clasped around his arm.

Thorin gazed up to catch Dwalin's eyes. The dwarf gave Thorin a grim smile but otherwise looked determined. Unfortunately, before the warrior dwarf could attempt to pull them up, the stones under Thorin's feet crumbled under their combined weights. The dwarf king's balance was shot and he could do nothing to restore it.

Naturally, Dwalin would rather die than let go.

It all happened too fast for the rest of the Company to fully comprehend, shocked and complacent they were still from the recent near-death experience. From Bofur's questions to Dwalin's rescue, only a full minute had passed. They couldn't believe something tragic could happen in such a short time.

Balin, Bifur, and Nori was reaching out to help but it was too late. Their fingers merely grazed Dwalin's coat before the warrior dwarf lost his balance toppled off the pathway.

Bilbo, Bofur, Thorin, and Dwalin - all four of them fell into the deep dark abyss, the shrieks of the Company following them in their descent.

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"No." Kili stared in horrified shock at the ravine below, right at the spot where the four members of the Company disappeared in the cover of darkness. "No, no, no. We have to get them! Get some rope!"

"Kee," Fili said in an uncharacteristically sober tone, face as pale as his brother's. "Kili," He let out a shaky exhale, unable to find the words.

"We have to get them, Fee," Kili insisted. "We have to—"

"They're still alive!" Bombur sank down to his knees and tried to peer into the blackness below. "They must be! They can't—Bofur can't be—" The red-haired dwarf's breath hitched, voice cracking.

Bifur went down beside him and engulfed him in an embrace, saying nothing. Bombur held on to him as if the dwarf was his lifeline. He spoke muffled words into Bifur's chest, shoulders shaking.

A haunted expression crossed Balin's feature but he was visibly pulling himself together. The rest of the Company barely looked better.

Fili knew what he had to do. The mantle of leadership didn't necessarily fall to him but they needed to act and they needed to act fast. The rain had let up but the path was still too slippery to traverse in the dark. The chances of the stone-giants coming back were high.

No one seemed willing to step up so he would do it. He swallowed and kept his expression blank. "We must find shelter," he said with a steadiness he didn't feel.

The Company slowly complied, movements jerky as if their limbs were controlled by strings. Bifur slowly helped Bombur up, rubbing the red-haired dwarf's back in comfort.

"No, Fee, they're . . . they're . . ." Kili pulled at his hair, mouth twisted in a grimace, brows pinched. ". . . They're not . . . they . . ."

Fili clasped both of his brother's shoulders. "I know, Kee. But we need to move  _now_ ," he emphasized, hoping to convince Kili through sheer will. He knew he couldn't do so with words, no matter how well-chosen.

Kili looked as if he would protest, face stricken. But he deflated instead after several seconds, nodding sadly. Fili offered a smile akin to a wince, and he steered his brother forward.

Shock and denial were dulling their senses, delaying the inevitable waves of grief and sorrow. It was better they move now before the initial surprise ebb away. They would mourn and Fili would rather they mourn somewhere private and secure.

The older Durin ventured a glance down the abyss.

He took a deep breath and blinked back the tears building in his eyes.

He wondered how his uncle had the strength to lead an entire army while feeling like his whole world was falling apart.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** And you all thought I was going to let Bilbo fall ALONE.
> 
> Well, I don't know when my next update will be . . . but I'll try my best!
> 
>  **Next up:** (SPOILER) *whispers* They're alive.
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcomed! Kindly point out any glaring errors!
> 
> Have a stress-free day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	31. (Suicidal) Attempt: Misty Mountains III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Wow, so long since my last update. Well, I hope this long-ish chapter might make up for it. It’s a little more angst than I wanted BUT PLEASE DO NOT FORGET THAT THIS IS CRACK. Yup. I cannot write anything serious because I end up cracking up myself.
> 
> Thank y’all for all the comments, favorites, bookmarks, kudos, and follows! I don’t deserve you guys ^_^
> 
> **DISCLAIMER:** They're taking the hobbits to Isen—Nope, they're taking them to my house. Yup, they're mine now. All mine. My pre~ciouses~ *gets punched in the face by BAMF hobbits* *hobbits escape* No! Come back!
> 
> Enjoy~

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The mountain rocks blurred before his eyes in shades of blacks and grays, the air sharply whistling in his ears. His hair whipped in different directions and for several moments, he didn’t know which way was up and which way was down.

He wasn’t confused for long because soon after, the ground came up and met him. He gasped, the impact stealing all the breath in his lungs and the hazy thoughts of his mind.

Darkness enveloped him in its embrace.

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Kili’s eyes burned and his heart was heavy. He dropped his pack onto the cave floor, unheeding of where or how it landed.

“They’re dead, aren’t they?”

Fili said nothing, lips pressed together in a tight line. When he met Kili’s gaze, his eyes glimmered in the low light. The younger Durin swallowed past the lump in his throat and he let his brother place an arm around him.

Scattered round the shelter a mountain cave had given them, the remaining members of the Company sat in their little corners.

Grief was written on their faces; Bombur, Bifur, Balin, Fili and Kili were feeling the loss most keenly. The Company’s cook had given up all pretenses and had started crying into Bifur’s coat. Bifur had closed his eyes in sorrow. Dori held his brothers tight around him as if fearing they might disappear at any moment. Ori embraced his oldest brother in return and Nori merely didn’t protest at the clinginess. Gloin hung his head and Oin fiddled twitchingly with his ear trumpet.

No conversation was had that night. The air was saturated with suffocating tension that none could break.

None of them went to sleep even though their tired bodies wanted rest. They held a vigil over their fallen comrades, mourning their loss.

Awake they might have been, they still couldn’t get out of the way in time when the floor of the cave split open and swallowed them whole.

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Deep in the wide ravine, Bilbo opened his eyes to find that he was obviously alive.

The obsidian of the mountain sides and the night sky, and the whiteness of pure snow filled his vision. He sat up, pausing for a moment as a wave of dizziness hit him. He shook his shoulders, dislodging the snow on his clothes and pack. His back ached, probably because he landed on it and his pack didn’t exactly contain the softest of things.

He fell, that he was certain of. But of course, there were fluffy plush snow thick enough to cushion a fall from a great height. How was this even possible? This was like one of those one and a million chances that kept happening in the books he had read. He didn’t even hit any rocks on the way down nor had he broken his neck.

At this rate, Smaug would turn out to be a small cheerful and amiable dragon. He would invite Bilbo to tea and they would talk about how good life was. With his luck, it was entirely possible.

He looked up and realized his fall had created quite a large dent on the snow. He was in a hole almost as tall as himself, and Bilbo knew he would have a hard time getting out of it on his own.

He caught some rustling from the corner of his eye, and he whipped his head in its direction. The full memories of the event hit him. His blood turned as cold as his surroundings and he blanched.

He had not fallen alone. He had taken three other dwarrows with him.

And currently, one of them laid chillingly still beside the hobbit.

Thorin Oakenshield was on his back, silver and black hair fanned out on untainted snow. His eyes were closed, features slack, and his almost permanent scowl was nowhere to be found. He appeared almost like one of those princesses in fairytale books who had been cursed to fall into a deep sleep and _now was not the time for that, foolish Baggins!_

Bilbo spasmodically got on his knees, hands finding purchase around broad and armored shoulders. “Master Oakenshield!” Bilbo was about to shake him but then thought better of it. He recalled that one should move an injured person as little as possible before one could determine the extent of their wounds.

Bilbo leaned down instead, hovering a hand over the dwarf’s mouth and nose. Warm puffs of air tickled his fingers, and the tight coil of dread loosened in his chest. Thorin was breathing at least.

“Master Oakenshield,” Bilbo said loudly, lightly patting the dwarf’s cheek. “Wake up, please wake up.” Thorin remained still. The edges of hysteria creeped in his spine and his head started to ache once more. What if Thorin hit his head and had fallen into a coma? What if Bilbo had actually imagined Thorin breathing? “Oh dear, oh dear.”

Then, the dwarf stirred, brows furrowing. Ah, yes, that signature scowl was coming to his face once more. Blue eyes opened and blinked rapidly, disoriented.

“Thank Yavanna.” Bilbo sighed in relief.

“What—Halfling?” Thorin frowned at the hobbit in confusion.

“Not half of anything, Master Oakenshield,” Bilbo chastised without heat, too worried to get into any real argument. ”Are you injured anywhere? Where does it hurt?” The hobbit’s fingers flitted over the dwarf’s face, shoulders and chest before Thorin firmly grasped his wrists and roughly pushed him away.

Bilbo got the hint and scooted backwards, wringing his hands because he didn’t know what else to do with them.

The dwarf sat up with a grunt. “I’m fine,” he snapped. His expression steadily grew shuttered and aloof with each movement.

Bilbo opened and closed his mouth, unsure of what to say. He felt a palpable tension emanating from the dwarf king but the hobbit’s mind was too fuzzy to make sense of it. Did Thorin hit his head? Was he injured but too prideful to admit it?

“Thorin!” echoed in the mountains. “Master Baggins!”

The hobbit and dwarf looked up. However, since they were almost buried in a pit of snow, they only saw moving shadows.

“Dwalin! In here!” Thorin called out, swiftly getting to his feet.

Bilbo followed suit, swaying slightly at the sudden change of height. The snow reached past Bilbo’s head, proving the hobbit’s earlier observation about the depth of the pit.

There was a pause. Then, heavy footfalls neared their hole. Soon, Dwalin’s and Bofur’s heads popped over the edge of the crater.

“Thank Mahal!” Bofur exclaimed with a grin.

Bilbo couldn’t help but smile in return. _They’re alive, they’re all alive, I didn’t get them killed!_ The relief he felt at that moment couldn’t be compared to anything.

Dwalin hauled both the dwarf king and the hobbit out of the hole. Thorin dusted off his clothes and pack immediately with precise motions, expression blank. Dwalin sent him an inquiring look but said nothing.

Then, the warrior dwarf pulled the hobbit out. The snow crunched under Bilbo’s knees. Fortunately, it was compressed enough to support his weight and he sunk no further than an inch.

“Seems our luck held out, lad,” Bofur quipped as Bilbo unceremoniously got to his feet. The dwarf steadied him. “’Tis nothing short of a miracle! I really thought we were done for!” he said before laughing in delight.

Bilbo chuckled wetly and unceremoniously took Bofur in a tight embrace. He had been so scared, so frightened that he would cause the light in Bofur’s eyes to fade, that death would steal the Company’s warrior and leader.

Bofur made a pained noise and Bilbo immediately pulled back, alarmed. He then found out why Bofur had not helped pull them up.

“You’re bleeding!” Bilbo gasped, realizing that the dark red stain on Bofur’s shoulder was blood. His tunic was torn from the shoulder to the upper arm, revealing skin blemished with a gaping wound. The dwarf was also holding that particular shoulder quite gingerly.

“Just hit my arm on some rocks on the way down.” Bofur gave the hobbit a reassuring smile. “Nothin’ to worry about.”

“Oh, Eru.” Bilbo fished out his handkerchief and bended down to gather some snow with it. After molding it into a ball, he held the makeshift ice-pack onto the dwarf’s shoulder. The hobbit could see the arm swelling ever so slightly. “Let’s hope it’s not dislocated.”

Bofur hissed as the cold article touched his skin. “It doesn’t feel so. But ‘tis still lucky that I only receive a small wound.” A flash of something akin to fear flickered in Bofur’s expression but it was gone as soon as it came, replaced again by his usual beam. “Though, I feel it is best to skip the hugging for now.”

Bilbo’s mouth quirked in a small smile as he snugly tied the ice-pack around Bofur’s upper arm. Impossibly lucky, one would say. But the hobbit was not about to question his friend’s luck if it kept him alive.

“Mister Dwalin? Master Oakenshield?” Bilbo turned to said dwarrows. “Are you injured?” They didn’t have any visible wounds but that didn’t mean they weren’t injured.

"I’m alright,” Dwalin answered, corner of his lips ticking upwards. “‘Cept for some bruising, ‘course.”

Beside him, Thorin deemed to ignore the question. He opted to look up and around the ravine they were in.

Bilbo followed his gaze, observing around himself. Stones walled off two sides and they stood high enough to almost cover the night sky. The storm had apparently ceased its torment upon the mountains and there were enough stars to create a surreal glow in their surroundings. Bilbo could almost see the trail they had fallen from but it was too dark and too far for him to be sure. There was a path behind them and a path ahead; he could only hope one of them would lead to the eastern side of the Misty Mountains.

“That was a really close one, innit, Bilbo? Yer pack must be really heavy.” Said hobbit turned to Bofur expectantly. The hatted dwarf gestured upwards. “Up there . . . ye were barely hanging on. I thought for a moment . . .” Bofur trailed off, brows pinching.

"Aye, we thought we were about to lose our burglar," Dwalin continued. “Mayhaps ye truly are our lucky number! We fell but survived nonetheless.”

The hobbit offered a strained smile. How he would have wanted to be lost permanently . . . However, before he could properly form a reply, Thorin finally spoke up. Bilbo realized then that he really would have preferred Thorin’s silence.

"He has been lost," snarled the dwarf and everyone's heads snapped to him. His face was twisted in a glower, expressing great hate. “Ever since he left home. He should never have come. He has been nothing but a burden!” His words were acid dripping onto Bilbo’s skin, like daggers slipping between his ribs.

“He almost had us killed by trolls, conspired with _elves_ , and now, his clumsiness has almost been our doom!” Thorin suddenly turned calm and aloof as if his previous fury had never been. And Bilbo knew that his next quip would be the final blow.

“He has no place amongst us.”

Bilbo was cold, hungry and dizzy. His whole body felt sore and his eyelids kept drooping. The residual anger from another botched suicide attempt, and the ebbing guilt he felt at endangering the others still stewed in his chest. And most of all, he was suddenly so _tired_ of Thorin constantly berating him throughout this quest.

At any other time and at any other situation, he would have deflated upon hearing the remark. He would back away, downtrodden. Although he had known from the start that he was deluding himself, it still hurt for that fact to be pointed out to him, it still hurt to think that the happy moments he shared with the dwarrows had meant nothing.

But this time, his hurt transformed into something else.

Bofur had stepped forward as if to defend the hobbit. But there was no need.

Bilbo’s chest burned with an all-consuming wrath and he snapped.

“Almost got you killed by trolls?” Bilbo’s voice slowly rose like an oncoming storm. “I wasn’t the one who told you to lay down your weapons like a bloody imbecile!” He took a menacing step towards the dwarf whose eyes had widened fractionally. “Conspiring with elves? Well, Master Oakenshield, I will not apologize for sharing your bigoted and foolhardy beliefs! I didn’t ask you to save me, I didn’t _want_ you to save me. Why next time, remember the trouble saving me has brought you and let me fall to my death instead!”

Thorin opened his mouth and Bilbo jabbed the dwarf’s chest before he could utter any more of his weaponized words. Oh, how the hobbit wanted to punch that mountain of a nose off that face. He curled his fingers into a fist in an attempt to fight down the temptation.

“Do you remember what you said to me in Bag End? Ooh, because I do. ‘ _I cannot guarantee your safety’_ my furry feet,” The hobbit said the latter with a mocking imitation of Thorin’s accent. “That’s all you’ve been _bloody_ doing the entire time!”

He emphasized his words with particularly hard pokes. The dwarf probably didn’t feel them because of his armor but it was the thought that counted. “If I had been such a burden then—“

The hobbit had been about to say more—a _lot_ more—had his voice not abandoned him at that moment. Bilbo broke off, a soft whine being the last thing that escaped his mouth before a series of coughs assaulted him. He turned and walked several steps away from the dwarrows, stifling his hacking with his hands. Yavanna, his throat itched and he was parched beyond belief. Shouting had not helped.

The hobbit released a shaky sigh, anger seeping out of his being. His breathing was haggard and he wheezed at every other exhalation. He ran a hand through his curls, his earlier exhaustion replacing his fury. It was a bone-deep tiredness that seemed to go beyond physical and seemed to stem from his very soul. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms, surprised to find them dry. He supposed he was too drained to even cry now.

 _So cold_. He wrapped his cloak tightly around his body and took a deep shaky breath. Feeling feeble, he let his knees buckled under him and his legs met snow once more. Sweat beaded along his forehead and the ice suddenly felt good upon his heated skin.

“Bilbo . . .?” Bofur tentatively called out.

“Leave me,” Bilbo said in barely more than a whisper. “I promised Master Oakenshield that the moment I become a burden to the Company, he can leave me wherever and whenever he wishes. I am a hobbit of my word and I believe it is time for me to prove that.” _So tired of fighting, so tired of being angry, so tired of feeling, so tired of speaking, so tired of breathing._ _So tired._ “I will impose upon you no longer. Go.”

“Bilbo—“

If the dwarrows said anything more, the hobbit didn’t hear them. Everything around him faded to white noise. There was an insistent and constant ringing in his ears drowning everything else, and his vision inexplicably swam.

Perhaps his head was actually in the process of exploding? He had heard of it happening to men so it was not so far-fetched.

He really wished he had died in the fall instead. He did not want the last words he heard to be ones of disdain and the last words he uttered to be ones of anger. Stupid prideful king!

 _He is right though_ , he said to himself. _I almost killed them because of my selfishness._ Had Bilbo not spare a moment to be dramatic and lose himself in sentiment, Bofur would not have had the opportunity to catch him. Consequently, the three dwarrows would not have fallen with him.

 _Master Oakenshield would be glad_ , he supposed, eyelids fluttering close against the constant swaying of the ground beneath him. _That I would no longer be around to endanger the members of the Company._

With that, he willingly succumbed the open maws of darkness once more.

He wished he never had to open his eyes again.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Unbeta’d ‘cause I’m a sleepy lazy bum. Thank you though, for all who offered to beta! I’m afraid I have to decline ‘cause I really don’t want to subject you guys to the wavering horror that is my muse XD.
> 
>  **P.S.:** Heads exploding – not really in a literal ‘gore and brain matter’ everywhere. This refers to anything internal illnesses that happens in the brain – hemorrhaging, stroke, tumor, whatnot. In the Middle Ages (I think), the usual explanation for these is that something in the brain exploded. So . . . tah-dah?  
>  **Next up:** Um, Thorin’s side of the story explored?
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcomed! Kindly point out any glaring errors! Suggestions are welcomed too!
> 
> Have a stress-free day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	32. (Interlude) Thorin's Terribly Bad Day I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** I realize that my updates are getting slower again. Other than real life interfering, THIS CHAPTER WAS SO HARD TO WRITE. WHY? Because after 70k+ words, I still haven’t given you guys some concrete BAGGINSHIELD AND I DECIDED THAT YES, this will be the chapter wherein I shall establish something. Man, those who came here for Bagginshield ALONE would be SO disappointed.
> 
> While writing this chapter, there was a lot of blushing and grimacing. I could not progress! UGH, I HATE THIS CHAPTER SO MUCH. KILL ME PLEASE AND NEVER LET ME READ IT AGAIN.
> 
> On the other hand, thank y’all for all your comments, favorites, bookmarks, kudos, and follows! Thanks so much and please don’t kill me ^_^
> 
>  **Cream the Cat:** Unfortunately, I don’t speak Italian (I have to Google Translate some of your tags in tumblr) XD
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER:** The BOTFA movie was so Bagginshield that I, along with other shipper trash, obviously wrote it. The other movies . . . we wrote only a small part of it (the Bagginshield parts).

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Thorin had a not-so-good day.

He barely slept the night before, too restless to close his eyes when warg howls still echoed in his ears. He checked over the dwarrows throughout the night, paying special attention to his kin (and the hobbit too since he was squished between his sister-sons and Thorin couldn’t help but include him). He made sure to be discrete about it. He paced around the camp and stayed on guard even after his night watch was long over.

When Dwalin woke up to attend to his shift, he had given Thorin a quelling look. His friend practically dragged him towards his bedroll and all but threatened to sit on him if he didn’t rest.

“The Company gains nothin’ from a sleep-deprived leader,” Dwalin had said.

Thorin managed to catch a few hours of sleep before dawn broke. Even still, he woke up feeling like he hadn’t slept at all. Then, they hastily trekked towards their destination.

And in the early morning, his Company had reach the base of the Misty Mountains. Another issue arose.

“There is a settlement of men a couple of clicks away,” Balin informed them after pouring over a map. “We’ll reach it by early evening and we shall get the supplies we need.” Specifically, they would get the yards of rope they needed to safely traverse the Misty Mountains.

However, “It’ll delay us by at least a day.”

“Can we not afford a day?” Gloin asked, looking around as if orcs and wargs would suddenly spring from the bushes.

Thorin shook his head as Dwalin replied, “I don’t think so. The orc pack is too close.” His mouth twisted into an unhappy line. “We’ve been too complacent.”

“Aye,” Thorin agreed, a small bubble of guilt tugging his chest even though he knew Dwalin did not mean to imply anything.

Thorin had not wanted to put unnecessary stress upon the Company. He had slowed down their pace, thinking that the orc pack had been too far away to give chase or that they perhaps have given up on their pursuit. After all, they had enough time before Durin’s day; there was no need to risk the Company’s health. (and truly, Master Baggins needed the time to train. Thorin didn’t know how one could grow up without knowing how to even handle a sword.)

But Thorin had been too complacent. He spent too long a time in the safety of Ered Luin that he had forgotten the dangers of the road.

“Orcs or cliffs?” Oin snorted. “It seems we must pick the lesser of two evils.”

“We cannot hope to survive an attack,” Gloin said grimly. “If their numbers are as many as before, that is.”

“Aye. I’d rather risk the mountains,” Dwalin added.

The four dwarrows then turned expectantly to Thorin. The final decision laid with him.

He glanced at stones that made up the Misty Mountains, at the snow-capped tips, and at the start of the narrow trail that led up the mountains.

“Very well.”

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After being in the middle of a strong storm and a stone-giants battle, ‘not so good’ had been understatement when it comes to describing his day.

His heart was pounding loudly, fear lingering in his chest even as he saw with his own two eyes that half of the Company, including his sister-son, had not been crushed to death. He watched with a smile as Kili pulled his brother into a hug, holding onto the fair-haired dwarf as tight as he could.

When he did a quick headcount, however, he realized that they were one short. He did a hasty search. Perhaps he had miscounted. Who—

“—the hobbit?” He caught the tail end of a question.

Then, his eyes strayed over the trail’s edges and on the small hands barely hanging on the stones.

He had shouted something, he knew he had, but he could not remember what it was. Panic had gripped him, taking over his body. He had not lost a member during the storm or battle, and he would not lose someone now. Before he knew it, he had jumped down, finding a foothold that was barely half the size of his boots.

In the end, no matter what he did, they had fallen to what were assuredly their deaths.

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When Thorin blinked awake to the sight of a smiling ethereal creature bathed in moonlight, he wasn’t truly surprised. He was, however, a touch confused and disappointed.

The legend said that Mahal himself would personally welcome the dwarrows that came to his halls. Had the Valar been busy? Was this creature the steward that would guide Thorin in Mahal’s stead? He supposed it was alright; the creature was comely enough. Auburn ringlets framed a round beardless face, a cute button nose, dark emeralds for eyes, a red flush around its full cheeks . . . In fact, looking closer, its appearance bore great resemblance to—

“Thank Yavanna,” A breath ghosted over Thorin’s lips, dragging him fully into consciousness.

“What—Halfling?” He shifted and judging by how his muscles protested, he was most definitely not dead. Well, he hoped pain would not follow him into Mahal’s halls.

Then, he recalled what he had been thinking just mere moments ago—about the burglar, no less—and a flame of anger spark in his chest. Truly, his lack of sleep must be playing tricks in his mind.

And he would have successfully convinced himself if this had been the first time those thoughts about the hobbit plagued him. He would have dismissed them had Thorin not found himself entertaining similar contemplations even when he was coherent.

He could not even recall when they had started, only that they were getting frequent as of late. They were senseless; the hobbit was beardless and was too thin to be attractive to a dwarf! But his mind and eyes were not getting the memo.

Then, the hobbit fussed over him, hot hands burning a trail on the skin they touched. Without thinking, he shoved them away, snapping an “I’m fine.” He schooled his features, fighting down a flush.

 _Damn halfling,_ he cursed in his head, embarrassment quickly turning to anger.

Dwalin and Bofur eventually found them, and pulled them out of the pit. The burglar greeted them enthusiastically, mouth stretched in a pleased grin and eyes crinkling with mirth.

Thorin looked away, huffing quietly and rather irritated with himself.

He observed their surroundings, hoping to keep his mind occupied with other thoughts. Were Fili and Kili alright? Had the Company made it through the mountains? How far had they fallen? How much time had passed since their fall?

 _The Company would think us dead_. Of course. They were terribly lucky not to be.

They were alive but for how long? There was a reason why they climbed the mountains and did not went _through_ it. Goblins made their homes in caves, crawling in the area and marking it as their territory. With only four of them (with one unskilled in any kind of weaponry), they would soon be overwhelmed.

He released a frustrated sigh. This situation could not get any worse.

“—we were about to lose our burglar," Dwalin was saying. “Mayhaps ye truly are our lucky number! We fell but survived nonetheless.”

And Thorin was suddenly and inexplicably angry. Lucky? There was nothing fortunate about their current situation. They were stuck in a ravine, the Company probably miles ahead. Danger lurked in every corner, and they would probably be dead before they could catch up them.

Usually, he could control his temper (a bit) better. However, he had lacked sleep and had been under a string of stressful events.

Thorin had always been good at directing his fury at someone other than himself. And the hobbit, with his diffident demeanor and soft small figure, had been the easy target.

"He has been lost ever since he left home,” he growled, sneering. “He should never have come. He has been nothing but a burden!” He spouted some more accusations, shouting all instances and small grievances that popped in his head. He took a deep breath after, calming down a few notches but still not calm enough. He glared, and finally remarked, “He has no place amongst us.”

It was perhaps the weakest insult he could throw at the burglar. Even a blind man could see how easily the hobbit fit amongst the company of dwarrows, how easily he gained their friendships, and how amiable and smooth their interactions were. It was a petty comeback that bore no truth.

The hobbit appeared not to realize all this because a wounded expression painted his face, too heartbreaking for Thorin to witness. His mind screamed _too far, too far, stop, you fool._ And stopped Thorin did. He blinked rapidly, panting quietly. His rage left him after his outburst, leaving only gaping remorse.

Thorin couldn’t take his eyes off the hobbit, unable to speak another word. Then, he watched as the hobbit’s hurt expression melted away to be replaced by a crackling wrath.

And Thorin didn’t know why he ever considered Bilbo Baggins a timid being.

Those emerald eyes _blazed_ with righteous fury, spine ramrod straight, and chin jutting out in defiance. The hobbit retorted with an eloquence that a diplomat would envy, giving Thorin the harshest tongue-lashing he had experienced since he was a dwarfling. Honeyed curls glinted sharply in the moonlight, and no, Bilbo Baggins did not look soft at all. He looked similar to the stubborn dwarrowdams he had met in his youth. He looked similar to a vengeful god striking justice where it was due. He looked . . .

He looked beautiful.

The dwarf king could not look away. He opened his mouth to say something foolish, and was almost thankful when the hobbit poked him on the chest to shut him up.

Then, the burglar cut off, turning away as wet coughs racked his being. It slapped Thorin out of his trance, and he averted his eyes, unable to prevent the red flush spreading on his cheeks. Again – it happened again!

“Bilbo . . .?” Bofur called out softly, the first to come out of the shock the halfling’s rant had put them.

Beside Thorin, Dwalin was still blinking in disbelief.

“Leave me,” Bilbo replied quietly, on his knees and back still turned to the dwarrows, defeat painting his posture. “I promised Master Oakenshield that the moment I become a burden to the Company, he can leave me wherever and whenever he wishes. I am a hobbit of my word and I believe it is time for me to prove that.” There was neither accusation nor bitterness in the hobbit’s tone, just a note of resignation. Ominous chills climbed up Thorin’s spine, a slap of wrongness hitting him. “I will impose upon you no longer. Go.”

The hatter dwarf frowned. “Bilbo, we ain’t leaving ye.” He planned to approach the hobbit and had already taken a step forward to do so. But then, he remembered that it was not his words that the hobbit needed to hear.

Bofur whirled to face Thorin, a defiant glare in place. Thorin may be Bofur’s king but he would damned if he let the short-tempered dwarf get away unscathed after hurting his friend.

Thorin cocked a brow in reply, pride rearing its ugly head in untimely manner.

“Ye should apologize,” Dwalin voiced out Bofur’s thoughts, sending Thorin a disapproving look. Thorin tried not to quell at that. “None of what ye said is the lad’s fault. Ye can’t blame him for somethin’ out of his control."

“I—“ Thorin started, then gulped. Guilt rode on his shoulders, and really, there was nothing he could say in his defense.

Dwalin let out a sigh. “I understand we’ve all been through a lot of stress lately but ye shouldn’t have taken it out on Master Baggins.” Because Dwalin knew Thorin well enough and had been a witness to a number of such things from Thorin.

Bofur nodded vigorously, frowning still. “Bilbo didn’t deserve that and _you_ must make amends.” At any other time, the hatted dwarf would be not so assertive in front their respected leader. At any other time, Thorin would not be saying insensitive things to Bofur’s friend.

Thorin gave a resolute nod, a promise. He had been at fault. He would swallow his pride – the pride that he did not deserve to have, especially after such despicable actions. It was only fair.

He turned to where the hobbit was kneeling, planning to approach him and to give a proper apology.

Thorin’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of the hobbit lying face-down on the snow.

“Bilbo!” Bofur cried out.

The three of them ran and sank to their knees next to their hobbit.

Of course Thorin’s day could get worse.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Unbeta’d ‘cause I’m a sleepy lazy bum. (English ay isang punyetang wika na napakahirap maunawaan kahit kinagisnan mo)
> 
>  **P.S. :** Whoa, did you guys know that I depict Bilbo with a “smiling depression”? I accidentally found out about it. People who have this kind of depression apparently have, most of the time, the energy to do things. They act normal for most part, smiling and looking happy on the outside while dying on the inside. These are the people who are most likely to go through their suicidal plans because they have the energy that people with “bedridden depression” don’t. Just a little tidbit.
> 
>  **Next up:** Thorin does not worry about the burglar. At all. Really. Stop doubting him. He does not! And Bilbo reveals something to the wrong person.
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcomed! Kindly point out any glaring errors! Suggestions are welcomed too!
> 
> Have a cute-filled day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	33. (Interlude) Thorin's Terribly Bad Day II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It’s a freaking Christmas miracle!!! I really thought my muse for this story disappeared entirely but here we are!
> 
> I don’t know if anyone’s still following this story but here’s the next installation just in case.
> 
> Well, this is just composed of silliness with a dash of angst since I can’t really write anything sad/angsty during Christmas season. The latter part of the NEXT UP last chapter would have to be delayed to the next since Kili is a silly stubborn dwarf.
> 
> Thank you all for the comments, kudos (OVER 2000!!!), bookmarks, favorites, and follows! I really like hearing what you think of the story and your own experiences in relation with it. I feel honored that you would share them with me ^_^
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Do you think Tolkien liked rabbits very much? He based the leading characters of his books after them . . .
> 
> Enjoy~

❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤

 _Of course, of course, his sickness_. How could Thorin have forgotten?

Dwalin turned Master Baggins on his back, using his arm to support the body in a half-sitting position. Snow clung to the hobbit’s lashes and hair, his breaths coming in short crystallized puffs. Dwalin bit down on the fabric of his glove and swiftly removed it. With the back of his bare hand, he felt for the hobbit’s forehead.

“He burns with fever,” he announced grimly, exchanging a meaningful look with Thorin. They had both forgotten, both lulled by the false sense of security and recently, too worried about orcs and mountains.

Bofur felt the hobbit’s temperature himself. He let out a sigh tinted with relief. “Nothing too high. He’s been coughing but I thought it to be just a cold.”

Thorin felt an insurmountable guilt rise in his chest; he had noticed too but chose not to address it. To be honest, he had thought the burglar was being overdramatic. Surely a mere cold night would not result to a cold? No dwarf would . . . But, of course, Master Baggins was no dwarf as Thorin kept forgetting.

Then, Bofur sent Thorin a sharp look. “We’re not leaving him.”

“Of course not,” Thorin replied irritably. He might have said that before but now that the time had come for him to fulfill his word, he found that he couldn’t be so heartless. Fili and Kili would never forgive him if he did leave the burglar behind. “We need Oin.”

Dwalin snorted. “So much for leavin’ him when he shows the signs of sickness,” he muttered.

Thorin gave him a bewildered glare, unable to believe what Dwalin just carelessly revealed. The warrior belatedly realized his mistake. His eyes widened and looked very much like he wanted to smack himself in the head.

Bofur’s eyes narrowed as he shot both dwarrows a calculating look. “What? Did ye two know about this? Just how long has Bilbo been sick?”

Balin, Dwalin and Thorin kept the knowledge of Master Baggins’ secret partly because they did not want to interfere with the hobbit’s affairs. Master Baggins would tell them if he wanted them to know. Mainly, however, they did not want to cause unnecessary worry amongst the Company.

A pained groan saved Thorin and Dwalin from answering Bofur’s questions. The three dwarrows watched as the hobbit stirred, shifting in Dwalin’s hold.

“Bilbo.” Bofur leaned forward, placing a hand on the hobbit’s flushed cheek. The burglar’s eyes slowly fluttered open, gaze unfocused as he took in his surroundings. “That’s it, lad. Do you remember what happened?”

The hobbit’s eyes rove drunkenly around before finally focusing on the dwarf in front of him. “Bofur?” he croaked, brows furrowing. Then, his body nearly bent in half as coughs racked his chest.

Bofur rested a palm over the hobbit’s chest, steadying him. Dwalin supported the burglar’s back and made sure he didn’t topple over onto the snow once more. Thorin’s fists curled and uncurled as he hovered restlessly (and anxiously, although he would not admit that one even under torture) in the background.

The burglar pushed away Bofur’s hand and turned to the side. Dwalin tightened his grasp on him, fearing he might fall over. The hobbit spat phlegm on the ground near Thorin’s boots. His coughing thankfully ceased after that.

“’M’sorry,” he slurred, slumping back in Dwalin’s arms. Sweat dotted his forehead and the flush in his cheeks spread to his neck.

“’Tis alrigh’, Bilbo,” Bofur assured, sending an amused side-glance to Thorin. “I’m sure Thorin won’t mind.”

The aforementioned dwarf glared but it was halfhearted at best.

The hobbit hummed. His eyes were no clearer when he spoke, “Bofur? I think ‘m sick.”

Bofur chuckled, ruffling the burglar’s curls. “That ye are, my friend. What do you say we get to Oin and let him fix you up?”

“It’s so cold.” The hobbit shivered. “Am I going to die, Bofur?”

“No, no, of course not,” the dwarf hurriedly reassured. Then, he placed a hand over the hobbit’s forehead again as if to assuage his own worries. “It’s just a fever.”

 _One could only hope it was only a fever_ , Thorin thought grimly. He knew too much of the situation to be relieved. How much time did the burglar have? Months, weeks, days? Or perhaps mere hours or minutes?

“Ye’ll see; a night’s rest and ye’ll be up and about,” the miner continued.

“Oh,” he half-said, half-sigh with a strange inflection in his tone. If Thorin didn’t know any better, he would describe it as disappointed. But the burglar already knew what was coming; mayhaps he was upset that it was coming so soon.

Thorin took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. For a moment, regret washed over him; he could have prevented this, could have forced Master Baggins to stay in Rivendell and heal like that blasted elf suggested –

Alas, it was much too late. The burglar had made his decision and Thorin had made his.

“We need to move,” Thorin said, getting to his feet. “Before we become goblin fodder.”

Bofur nodded determinedly while Dwalin casted wary looks at their surroundings. Master Baggins just looked plain confused. Thorin suspected the burglar’s mind remained not fully with them.

“I’ll carry Master Baggins,” Dwalin volunteered, already gently maneuvering the burglar in his arms and preparing to lift him up.

“Mister Dwalin? I . . . I think your ink is running.” Master Baggins sluggishly reached out a hand towards the tattoos on the warrior dwarf’s balding head. Dwalin grunted and firmly placed the said arm back on the hobbit’s side.

“ _I_ will be carrying Master Baggins,” Thorin interjected with a tad more force than necessary. Both Dwalin and Bofur startled. He cleared his throat. “Bofur clearly can’t, with his shoulder. Goblins attack in swarms. If ever we encounter them, Grasper and Keeper would be better in keeping them at bay than Orcrist.”

Partly, Thorin felt that carrying the hobbit would be doing penance for all the wrongdoings he had done. But, of course, that was one sentiment he would not let get past his lips.

“Are ye finally conceding that ‘m a better fighter than ye?” Dwalin’s smug and amused tone grated Thorin’s nerves.

The dwarf king rolled his eyes. “ _No._ I’m saying your axes would be more useful than a sword given the circumstances.”

“Bofur, will you carry me?” The hobbit turned guileless glassy eyes to the said dwarf.

The miner looked apologetic. “Can’t. My shoulder, remember?” He gestured at the wrapped injury good measure. Then, a mischievous grin climbed to his face. “’Sides, ye’ve got a _king_ willin’ to do so.”

“King?”

“I believe there will time for jokes later.” Thorin gave Bofur a hard look. The miner adopted a ‘who, me?’ expression that fooled no one but the delirious hobbit. “Now, help me get him on my back.”

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A horde of goblins molested the Company, confiscating their belongings dragging them deeper into the mountain. They all struggled, kicking, biting and maiming. But as one goblin went down, three more replaced it. They were vastly outnumbered and were quickly overwhelmed.

Meeting the Goblin King, in all his pale cysts-ridden droopy glory, was not an experience the Company dared to reminisce. More so when the goblin gleefully commanded, “Bring up the mangler, bring up the bonebreaker.” He grinned, showing an array of gums with protruding rotten things that might have once been teeth. “Start with the youngest.”

Ori gulped as the Goblin King pointed at him, even though he wasn’t, in fact, the youngest. No, that honor belonged to Kili. The goblins around him jeered, laughing maliciously. Dori and Nori struggled harder against the goblins caging them, wanting to get to their youngest brother.

“Wait!” a shout resounded above the din.

 _Mahal help us_.

Ori closed his eyes, not wanting to see the disaster that was about to happen.

Kili straightened his back as all attention turned to him, trying to appear like a Very Important Dwarf. He attempted to look aloof and mostly succeeded; only the slight twitching of his right eye was the only crack in his demeanor.

An expression of mounting horror marred Fili’s face. When Kili met the blonde’s gaze, the older brother shot the younger one a look that demanded, ‘What in Mahal’s name are you doing?’

Who knew? Kili certainly didn’t.

“Who’re you then?” the Goblin King drawled, looking unimpressed.

“D-Do you not know? I am—I am Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain!” Kili said, voice steadily rising in an emulation of his uncle’s intimidating tone. “ W-We go to our kin in the Iron Hills. We have no business with you goblins.” The dwarf’s eyes darted everywhere but the Goblin King’s. “Let u-us go and we shall be on our way.”

The Goblin King looked taken aback, gaping as he took in the dark-haired dwarf. The Company and horde of goblins waited with baited breath. Fili resisted the urge to reach out and smack his brother.

Then, a guttural laugh that sounded more like hacking escaped the Goblin King’s lips. “You, Thorin Oakenshield?” His large belly bounced at his continued mirth. “You were in your nappies when the Battle of Azunalbizar happened. Do not try to deceive me, you beardless whelp!”

Kili looked extremely offended. Technically, he wasn’t even a thought in his parents’ minds back then. Fili grabbed him and dragged him back, looking terrified and irritated at his foolishness.

“Don’t try to imitate Uncle Thorin ever again,” Fili said, giving in to the urge to smack some sense into his younger brother.

Kili rubbed his head and opened his mouth to reply but the Goblin King spoke over him.

“Although . . . do you know where that King Without a Mountain is.?” He grinned. “There’s a bounty on that crownless head. Just the head.”

The Company froze. “A bounty?”

“Aye . . . Put on by a certain pale orc astride a white warg.”  The Goblin King gauged their reactions. He saw more than one dwarf blanch in terror. “Tell me what you know of Thorin Oakenshield and I might consider sparing the lot of you.”

Thorin Oakenshield was dead, along with three of their comrades. But informing the Goblin King of that would not likely bode well for them; their closed mouths and possible usefulness were the only things ensuring their lives.

“No?” The Goblin King looked gleeful instead of annoyed. “Very well. Bring out everything, lads! We’ll make them squawk.”

Gandalf’s timely arrival saved them from the clutches of the goblins. There was no time to think, only to fight and run towards the exit and sunlight.

In the midst of it all, a sobering thought crossed Fili’s mind. Perhaps, had Gandalf arrived a bit sooner, they wouldn’t have had to lose four very important members. Maybe Gandalf could have used magic to prevent them from falling to their deaths.

Perhaps Gandalf’s arrival wasn’t timely after all.

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They had to leave the non-essentials, like the sleeping bags and some clothes, behind. Thorin would have to carry Master Baggins and Bofur could barely carry his own pack with his shoulder. Dwalin could have carried two but if a fight did come to them, he wouldn’t be thankful for the hindrance.

Thorin hitched the hobbit further up his back, arms firmly enclosing the other’s knees and legs. It was hard to balance the creature with his large furred feet but Thorin managed with Bofur’s help. The hobbit was lighter than Thorin expected (and softer too but the dwarf tried to forget that realization as soon as it occurred).

Bofur adjusted the fur coat that cocooned the hobbit, who had once again fallen unconscious. Master Baggin’s arms was already loosely wrapped around Thorin’s neck to prevent him from falling off. Still, the dwarf king would have to walk carefully. Bofur shifted the hobbit’s head so it rested comfortably on Thorin’s nape.

“Are you done hovering?” Thorin asked, cocking an amused brow.

“Almost,” Bofur replied, looking over the hobbit once more. “His ears have turned really red, haven’t they?” He paused for a contemplative moment. Then, in one swift movement, he removed his flap hat and placed it upon the hobbit’s curls. He made sure those pointy ears were covered by the flaps.

Thorin tried to hide his astonishment. Everyone in the Company knew how important the hat was to Bofur. He never removed it even in sleep. For him to willingly lend it to the hobbit showed how far his regard for the creature went. Thorin wondered what it was about Master Baggins that drew the dwarrows towards his company.

Thorin suspected he already knew the answer because, try as he might, he was included in those said dwarrows.

Thorin cleared his throat. “Let’s move then.”

❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, I think my muse is going away again so this might be the last chapter . . . We’ll see!
> 
> Man, my writing is slowly becoming manga-like.
> 
> Next up (if I ever update): Some Bagginshield stuff that I would probably make me blush as I write it.
> 
> Constructive criticisms are, as always, very much welcome!
> 
> Merry Christmas, guys!  
> ~ Vividpast


	34. (Interlude) Thorin's Terribly Bad Day III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Whew, another bout of silliness!
> 
> Thank you all for the comments, kudos (OVER 2000!!!), bookmarks, favorites, and follows! I really like hearing what you think of the story and your own experiences in relation with it. I feel honored that you would share them with me ^_^
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER:** Do you think Tolkien liked rabbits very much? He based the leading characters of his books after them . . .  
>  Hope y’all enjoy~

❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤

Master Baggins was a line of warmth on his back as he walked on the white field. The heat of the hobbit’s fever seeped even through his clothes and Thorin felt it emanating from the creature keenly. That said, Thorin was surprisingly warm even though he given the hobbit his coat on top of the one Gloin let him borrow.

The three of them trudged on, ice crunching under their boots. They waddled through the deep snow that saved them from the fall but now hindered their journey. Dwalin walked ahead, clearing a path for Bofur and Thorin so they might have an easier time.

After an hour, Dwalin turned to Thorin, “Want to switch?”

“No,” was the curt reply.

“Yer arms must be killing ye.”

“I’m fine.”

“Thorin, it’s been --”

“I. Am. Fine.”

Dwalin lifted his hands in what could be a placating manner if he wasn’t holding his axes. “All right, all right.” He knew that when Thorin used that tone, the stubborn dwarf king would not be budging on the issue. “Let’s take a short break then,” he suggested.

After a moment’s thought, Thorin nodded in agreement.

Eventually, after a few hours of walking with intermittent breaks, the snow thinned, giving was to patches of mud and dewy clumps of grass.

Dwalin kept shooting Thorin and his cargo strange looks but had said nothing. To that, Thorin replied with questioning glances. He could not figure what was on his friend’s mind. Meanwhile, Bofur looked on the verge on checking on the hobbit a few times; Thorin’s hard stare halted him. They couldn’t afford to stop every few minutes just to assuage Bofur’s worries. Getting the hobbit to Oin was their first priority. Besides, Master Baggins did not seem to be any pain. His breathing was deep and even, sleep peaceful. Even if he was in pain, Thorin doubted he or Bofur could do anything about it, especially if it was caused by his terminal illness . . .

The hobbit’s stirrings slapped Thorin out of his musings. Finally, the burglar was showing signs of wakefulness. Master Baggins shifted restlessly, arms flexing around Thorin’s neck. He made some sleepy noises at the back of his throat, sounds similar to what woodland animals made upon waking up from hibernation. Thorin was sure the Master Baggins would not be glad with the comparison.

Then, the hobbit went on and stifled a yawn at the back of Thorin’s right shoulder. Thorin felt the moist hot breath blowing through his tunic and the ghost of supple lips against his skin. The skin around his shoulder prickled, heat spreading to his neck. A fissure of something sultry ran along the length of Thorin’s spine, causing the hairs on his arms and neck to rise. He cleared his suddenly dry throat, eyes darting around their surroundings and urging his feet to walk faster. This was a really no time to be distracted.

“Bofur?” Master Baggins murmured sleepily, barely loud enough for Thorin to hear.

“Sleep, Master Burglar.” Thorin was really in no mood for a conversation after the stunt the hobbit pulled. Even now, he could feel the warmth on his cheeks.

“I think you’ve misplaced your hat.” The hobbit let out a short giggle. “It’s on my head.”

Of course he wouldn’t. When had the hobbit ever done what was expected? More specifically, when had the hobbit ever done what Thorin expected?

“Bofur lent it to you for the time being since you need it more than he,” Thorin answered.

Thorin could feel the hobbit frowning. “Why’re you referring to yourself in third person?” It seemed Master Baggins was only a bit more coherent than the last time he awoke. Before Thorin could correct him, the hobbit continued in a much softer voice, “Thank you. I . . . Hobbit ears are truly sensitive to the cold. Thought I was going to lose them back there.” He chuckled. “And I  . . . I know how much this hat means to you, Bofur. Thank you.” The hobbit buried his face on the dwarf’s shoulder and nuzzled it, breathing slightly labored. Thorin valiantly resisted the urge to bristle. The burglar’s voice was muffled when he spoke, “Thank for entrusting me with it. I’m really glad you’re my friend.”

 _He’s embarrassed,_ Thorin realized when he noted the way the hobbit was fidgeting. The dwarf king said nothing, partly because he didn’t know what to say but mostly because he wasn’t, in fact, Bofur. He shouldn’t be the one hearing this sincere confession.

Master Baggins spoke no more. His breathing eventually evened out. Just speaking must have exhausted him. But just when Thorin thought the hobbit had fallen asleep again, he felt the hobbit lift his head slightly.

“Is Master Oakenshield still angry at me?” he asked, voice odd. Thorin blinked, wondering if he should stop the hobbit right there and then. The next words amused him enough to let the burglar continue. “That soft-footed, big-nosed, garden-destroying, food-hoarding _king_ of dwarrows or what have you.” He emphasized ‘king’ as if it was the worst insult of all.

If the hobbit was going to badmouth him, Thorin would rather hear it directly from the source. (He could just imagine the creature scrunching his nose in annoyance, brows furrowed and lips pursed in what could have been a stern line but more or less resembled a pout _and why was Thorin imagining this again?_ )

Master Baggins covered his mouth with one hand and released a wet cough. Thorin was just thankful he didn’t stifle _that_ into the dwarf’s tunic.

“One moment, he’s all ‘Ugh, hobbits. Such a burden. Couldn’t even hold a sword right. Let’s leave it at the first chance we got.’” Thorin sounded _nothing_ like the ridiculous imitation the hobbit had performed. “And then, the next, he saves me from certain _death_ and supposed he’s doing me a huge favor.” The dwarf was quite sure he _was_. In what world did saving another’s life became a bad thing? “Did you know Mister Nori’s a thief? When I perish, he shall be a better replacement. I suppose he doesn’t know that if he insists on letting me live.”

Thorin didn’t know what to address first in that statement. _When_ he perish? It strengthened Thorin’s belief that Master Baggins truly had a fatal illness, and he had not expected to survive through the journey. But the next words baffled the dwarf. Letting him live? The hobbit spoke as if . . .

 _“Or perhaps,”_ Gandalf’s words months ago flitted his mind. _“He hadn’t expected to be saved.”_

_“I didn’t ask you to save me, I didn’t **want** you to save me!”_

Ah, yes. Master Baggins had said something of the like, hadn’t he? (Thorin had been too distracted by something to properly listen to his tirade). The dwarf had interpreted it as the hobbit not wanting be saved by _him_. Now that Thorin thought upon it, the hobbit’s tone and wording was a bit odd . . .

“You smell different, Bofur.” The hobbit continued blithely. “You usually smell of cooking oil and my fireplace back in Bag End . . . Maybe it’s because . . . of this . . . coat.” Thorin heard some rustling. “This is Master Oakenshield’s coat.” The dwarf wondered if Master Baggins had realized he wasn’t, in fact, talking to Bofur all this time.

But then, he let out an indignant huff, breath ghosting over Thorin’s nape. “ _Now_ he’s being nice. Do you see what I mean, Bofur?” He released a frustrated sound. “I don’t know what to make of him.”

Thorin could say the same for Master Baggins.

“He shouted at me, looking like he wanted to throw me to a pack of wargs. And now . . .” There were several moments of silence. Then, the hobbit sighed, resigned. “ . . . I was quite angry with him in turn, wasn’t I? Even though I had no right to be . . . He _is_ right. It’s my fault why you’ve fallen and almost died,” he said in a small mournful voice.

Bofur would beg to differ. And Thorin didn’t truly blame him; it was his misplaced anger that had provoked him to speak such damning words. Thorin opened his mouth to say such but the next words out of the hobbit’s mouth stunned him into silence, “I’m sorry, Bofur. I should have let go sooner. You wouldn’t have had time to catch me then.”

 _Let go?_ Master Baggins had intended to fall off the cliff all along? But . . . why? Surely he realized that it would mean his death! They were just unfathomably lucky to have survived. Had Master Baggins fallen alone, with his illness, he would not have had made it even if he had survived the initial impact.

Thorin was about to ask further about the matter but for the third time in just the past hour, he was interrupted.

“Bilbo, yer awake!” Bofur exclaimed, slowing down so he could approach them.

“How ye feelin’, lad?” Dwalin asked coming up to Thorin’s other side.

Mahal, was no one going to let Thorin speak?

“Bofur!” Extreme astonishment colored the hobbit’s voice. “You’ve duplicated yourself!”

Bofur and Dwalin frowned in confusion and concern. “Yer seein’ double.” The miner reached out a hand to feel the hobbit’s forehead. “Yer fever’s breakin’ though. ‘Tis not as high as before.”

Thorin coughed briefly. “He thinks you’ve been the one carrying him,” he said to the miner. The dwarf could feel the hobbit tensing as soon as he spoke.

“Ah.” The corners of Bofur’s lips quirked upwards. Dwalin didn’t even attempt to hide his grin. “I assume ye’ve had an interesting conversation then.”

“Bofur.” The hobbit beckoned and Bofur dutifully stepped closer. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Master Baggins whispered but, seeing as they were talking right beside Thorin’s ear, the dwarf king could hear him loud and clear. “You were not the one who has been carrying me all this time, were you?”

Bofur shook his head, mouth threatening to erupt into a full-blown grin. Thorin himself couldn’t curb the smile forming in his lips.

“Mister Dwalin?” the hobbit asked weakly.

“I’m afraid not, Master Baggins,” Dwalin replied.

“Oh. I see.” He paused for a moment. Then, he sighed and the furs of Bofur’s hat brushed Thorin’s nape as the hobbit dropped his head. “I suppose sleeping would be the best course of action right now.”

“As I have said,” Thorin reminded him.

“Shut it, you,” the hobbit huffed. “I was half-asleep. You’re insufferable. You could’ve clued me in that you weren’t Bofur.”

“And miss you insulting me?” Thorin retorted, tone bordering on saccharine.

“So I didn’t have to censor myself,” Master Baggins replied just as sweetly. “You want insults? Why, let me give you some – ” The hobbit shook as a coughing fit interrupted his diatribe. He shamelessly muffled his coughs on Thorin’s tunic.

Bofur, with his good arm, rubbed circles upon his back until the fit subsided. The dwarf sent a glare to Thorin for getting the hobbit all worked up. Thorin scowled in return; Bofur wasn’t the one whose shirt was getting splattered with phlegm, was he?

“Let me off,” Master Baggins demanded, voice rough, and he wiggled in Thorin’s grasp. The dwarf tightened his hold, desperately wishing that the hobbit _would stop moving_ lest the heat spread somewhere other than Thorin’s cheeks. (Wait, _what?_ ) “I can walk by myself.”

Bofur protested while Dwalin cocked an unimpressed brow. Thorin cleared his throat and said, “I highly doubt that would be a good idea, Master Baggins.”

“It’s my body; I think I know what it’s capable of and –”

“You are currently fighting off a fever and a cold. Clearly, you are not nearly as knowledgeable about your body’s limits as you think.”

Master Baggins squawked. “I’ll have you know –”

“As much as I like hearing the two of ye bicker like an old married couple,” Dwalin drawled out, twirling one of his axes. Bofur’s sudden and inexplicable coughing fit definitely started off as a laugh. “I’d like it more if we didn’t draw any unwanted attention. Keep it down a notch.”

Both Thorin and the hobbit quieted after that, chastised. They all walked in silence for several minutes. Then, Thorin recalled that he still had something left to say.

“About earlier, after we fell.” He took a deep breath, guilt once again pulsing in his chest. “I . . . I apologize, Master Baggins, for my words. They were undeserved.”

The hobbit sighed and snuffled softly but said nothing. A long silence ensued. A long long silence.

Thorin frowned. “Master Baggins?”

“He’s asleep,” Bofur informed him. “Guess ye’ll have to try again later,” he said cheerfully.

Thorin sighed. Of course.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Why do I always torture Thorin? Hahaha, because it's fun!
> 
>  **Next up:** Back by unpopular demand: Gollum *One Ring sidles forward* and me!
> 
> Constructive criticisms are, as always, very much welcome!
> 
> Happy New Year, everyone!  
> ~ Vividpast


	35. (Suicidal) Amends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** OKAY, THAT’S IT. I’m not going to put NEXT UP anymore because they’re always so inaccurate. Unfortunately, Gollum and the One Ring will not be featured here *sighs*
> 
>  
> 
> This was supposed to come out last Jan 19, exactly one year since my insane brain concocted this disaster. But, my brain decided some last minute changes that took forever to write.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for still tuning in, guys! ^_^
> 
>  
> 
> Also, someone mentioned . . . fanart? O.O \o/
> 
> Enjoy . . .? 

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After a couple of hours of walking, they encountered not even a whisper of goblins, which in itself was a miracle. What were keeping the beasts busy, Thorin had wondered.

They took another break an hour later. Bofur had found a cave by the side of the mountains that was a perfect shelter for the cold wind. The mouth was wide enough to comfortably accommodate the four of them.

“It goes deeper,” Dwalin reported, immediately smothering the small torch he had made. The moonlight only reached a few meters in so the path beyond was in the cover of the darkness. “But the tracks of goblins are months old, if not years. It’s not a heavily patrolled area.”

Thorin nodded. “We will stay half-an-hour. You and Bofur watch the back. I’ll take the front,” he said. “Be alert at all times.”

“Aye.”

They settled down, resting their aching feet and warming up their cold limbs. Thorin gently placed the sleeping hobbit down near the cave’s side where it was warmest. Master Baggins didn’t even stir.

Thorin shook his arms after, trying to get rid of the numbness that settled in them. While Master Baggins was by no means heavy, carrying something on such long periods of time bore consequences.

The hobbit’s fever had thankfully simmered down and the flush in his cheeks were not as prominent as before. He would still need Oin but his temperature was less worrying now.

Dwalin brows furrowed in confusion and he sent an inquiring glance to Thorin. Master Baggins looked to be on the mend. They thought . . . Well perhaps the fever was not a dire symptom of something else after all.

The hobbit’s earlier words echoed in Thorin’s mind. He suspected there was something more to this than they know.

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“Food,” Bilbo moaned upon waking, reduced to monosyllabic words and refusing to open his eyes. The emptiness of his stomach was almost painful. “Water?”

A pair of hands sat him up (he was lying down?) and Bilbo cold solid stone against his back. He heard the sound of water gurgling nearby. His eyes flew open and met with the sight of a waterskin (in someone’s hand?). He snatched the container before someone did something unnecessary like help him drink.

Bilbo uncapped the waterskin and it seemed that was as far as his abilities go. He tried to aim for his mouth so he could finally drink but his hand kept missing. Water dribbled to his clothes because of his inexplicable clumsiness. By Yavanna, was his hand drunk? Can fingers get drunk?

A broad callused hand enclosed Bilbo’s own and directed the lip of the waterskin to his mouth. Finally, sweet-tasting water flowed down his throat, wetting his parch lips and quenching his thirst.

After Bilbo drank his fill, the waterskin was taken away, only to be replaced by the familiar crusty texture of cram.

“M’fraid this will have to do, Master Baggins,” a voice said softly. “We don’t have the resources to cook anythin’.”

Bilbo blinked a few times, eyes focusing on the dwarf in front of him. “Mister Dwalin?”

Since food was clearly more important, his hand behaved himself and the food quickly found its goal. The hobbit shoved the whole thing in his mouth and finished it in no time at all. It was stale and dry but his stomach was just glad he put something in it.

Dwalin gave him another portion, shocked at the speed he finished the previous one. “You chew like a gerbil.”

Without thinking, Bilbo lifted his free hand and gave the dwarf a very rude gesture indeed. Then, he realized he wasn’t actually talking to Fili and Kili. Still, he didn’t retract the gesture. Dwalin chuckled and gave him more cram as if in reward.

“You must be feeling better,” Thorin drawled out, off to the side.

The hobbit pointedly ignored him, placing his hand down. Bilbo knew he needed to apologize eventually; Thorin had taken a brunt of his undeserved anger. The dwarf had only spoken the truth and Bilbo had shouted at him for it. It was hypocritical and immature of Bilbo.

Of course, Thorin was partly at fault too. It takes two to get into an argument, his father always said. The dwarf had a temper as short as a growing sapling, and he had spoken most harshly. However, Bilbo knew it would be a cold day in Yavanna’s garden before the dwarf would even think to apologize. Thorin Oakenshield would not swallow his pride for someone he deemed as useless as Bilbo. And thus, Bilbo had to be the one to make amends.

But the hobbit couldn’t attempt to do it right now. A pulse of hurt still sat uncomfortably in his chest and he was afraid that any attempt in apologizing now would end in another shouting match or a pool of tears (His tears, the hobbit shamefully admitted to himself).

Bofur entered Bilbo’s field of vision, dragging the hobbit out of his thoughts. The miner’s face expressed relief as he seated himself beside the hobbit. He beamed. Bilbo returned the smile with a hint of hesitance. He was uncertain as to why Bofur looked so happy.

Bilbo didn’t get the chance to ask because Thorin suddenly strode towards him. He loomed over the hobbit for a moment and Bilbo looked up at him.

The dwarf looked odd without his furs, Bilbo noted. Thorin actually looked larger without the additional layer, dark blue tunic straining against his bulging muscles. _He should get a new looser shirt_ , Bilbo thought absentmindedly, nibbling on his cram. The hobbit could only imagined how uncomfortable such tight-fitting tunics were.

Then, the dwarf king abruptly kneeled down in front of him. Bilbo continued munching, confused.

“Master Baggins,” Thorin said, expression greatly resembling guilt. “I would apologize for my words earlier. They were ill-chosen and undeserved.” Thorin bowed his head. “It has not been a good day and I have taken my anger out on you. It is no excuse, I know. I vow to have better control my temper in the future. ”

The dwarf lifted his head and steadily met the hobbit’s gaze. Bilbo stared back with wide bewildered eyes.

“I shall do whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness.”

Thorin sounded so earnest and looked very grave. It took the hobbit a while to parse that the dwarf was apologizing to _Bilbo._

(Oh dear. He hoped Yavanna’s garden did not freeze over.)

Bilbo slapped himself out of his trance, realizing that the silence was dragging on for too long. A hint of uneasiness was starting to settle in Thorin’s features. Bofur and Dwalin looked like they were watching an interesting play and continued to say nothing.

Bilbo swallowed the last of his food. After hearing Thorin’s sincere confession, he found the courage he did not have earlier. “A-And I wish to apologize too, for shouting at you and insulting you. It wasn’t very proper to respond to your wrath with mine.” Bilbo averted his gaze, opting to look down at his hands. “As the leader of the Company, I understand that you worry for the safety of its members.” Here, Bilbo glanced at Bofur and Dwalin. “And become rightfully angry when they are threatened. And it -- it was _my_ fault you almost died so -- ”

“No, Master Baggins,” Thorin cut off, clasping a hand over Bilbo’s shoulder. The hobbit was startled into looking up and locking gazes with the blue-eyed dwarf once more. “It was through no fault of your own. I was being unreasonable by blaming you. You did not intend to hang by that cliff and you certainly didn’t ask to fall.”

Bilbo hoped he didn’t look very guilty. But as always, something must have shown on his face.

Thorin’s eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. “You did not, did you?”

On Bilbo’s side, Bofur was giving the hobbit a similar look.

“Of course not,” Bilbo vehemently denied, wishing the indignation in his voice covered up the lie in his words. “I’m -- I’m still in my right mind, I’ll have you know.” _Am I? Have I ever been in the first place?_ Bilbo quickly smothered that line of thought. It wasn’t one he would contemplate on while still alive.

“There you have it then. And you are right.” Thorin cleared his throat, faltering for a short moment. “As the leader of the Company, although I cannot guarantee their safety, I will do everything in my power to keep those under me hale and unharmed. I have been acting . . . quite brusque towards you --”

Bilbo couldn’t help but let out a snort.

“ -- and I am a little prejudiced towards races not my own. But as much as I insist otherwise, _you_ are part of the Company. You have been when you signed the contract, when you journeyed with us through Bree, through Rivendell and through the mountains.” Thorin gave the hobbit’s shoulder a squeeze. “I may have been angry at our misfortune but I do not regret saving you. Neither Bofur nor Dwalin do too.”

Bilbo glanced at said dwarrows. Dwalin gave a nod of assent and Bofur smiled.

“Oh.” The heavy feeling in his chest eased off completely, replaced by a ball of something warm, bright and light. His heart ached with the pleasant feeling.

It could all be a lie; Thorin could just be saying it because Bofur forced him or some such. Maybe the dwarf wanted to go back to the hobbit’s good graces because he still needed a burglar.

But Thorin sounded so genuine and perhaps Bilbo was just desperate (and sick) enough to believe him. “I -- That is -- Oh.” To his shame, Bilbo’s eyes started burning with tears and his throat closed up, robbing him of words.

The hobbit buried his face on his hands, shoulders shaking. Thorin promptly relinquished his grip on Bilbo, hissing as if burnt.

“M-Master Baggins, I did not intend -- I ask for your forgiveness once more -- omph.” Dwalin elbowed the dwarf king in the ribs, ceasing his almost panicked babbling.

Bofur drew the hobbit into a one-armed hug. “There, there, Bilbo.”

The hobbit sniffled, leaning against Bofur and trying to swallow his sobs. Eru, there was nothing to cry about! Thorin had apologized and all was forgiven, it seemed.

Only, he was quite moved by Thorin’s words. He just realized how much the dwarrows risked by saving him, how far they went just to protect him. Thorin had admitted that Bilbo was much a part of the Company than the others, and that Thorin’s protection extended to him.

It would certainly hinder Bilbo’s future suicidal plans but at that moment, the hobbit couldn’t find it in himself to care. A different feeling bubbled in him then, along with a thought that hadn’t crossed his mind in years.

Bilbo collected himself, disentangling himself from Bofur’s hold and scrubbing the remnants of tears with his tunic. He turned to Thorin, whose face belied anxiousness. The hobbit cleared his throat and gave a wan smile. “Thank you, Master Oakenshield. I haven’t heard such declaration directed towards me since my parents died and --” The hobbit chuckled wetly. “As you can see, I’m easily overwhelmed.”

Dwalin frowned, confused. “Have you no other close kin --” This time, Thorin’s elbow was the one that did the none-too-gentle prodding.

“We understand, Master Baggins,” Thorin said. The dwarf paused, eyes darting to the side. Then, his gaze went back to the hobbit and he coughed briefly. “My sister-sons have been most persistent that . . . You _have_ proven yourself when you risked your life during the debacle with the trolls, and have continued to do so in the days of your training. It is my merely stubbornness and pride that hindered me from acknowledging that.”

Bilbo sent the dwarf a bewildered glance, uncertain to Thorin’s point. By the looks on Dwalin’s and Bofur’s faces, they had no idea either.

“What I am saying, Master Baggins, is that . . .” For a short moment, Thorin appeared unsure, his trademark scowl becoming lax. Then the moment was gone and his shoulders were set in a tense line. “I would like to give you my first name.”

Bilbo’s mouth dropped open. Dwalin boggled and Bofur stifled a snicker.

“You are in no obligation to reciprocate, of course. I offer you my friendship so that I may be able to make amends for my wrongdoings.” Thorin held out an arm. “Will you accept it?” He looked like the hobbit’s answer determined the fate of their quest.

Bilbo chuckled. Really, the dramaticness of Durins. He grasped Thorin’s forearm in a warrior’s handshake -- one Balin mentioned was common among dwarrows. “Well, if Fili and Kili insisted, then I suppose I have no choice in the matter.” The hobbit grinned. “I accept, Thorin Oakenshield, and give my first name in return.”

Then, Bilbo was treated to a rare sight indeed; Thorin gave him a smile. Albeit small and barely a quirk of the lips, it was still there. “Bilbo then.”

The hobbit thought back to the friendships he had with the other members of the Company, and to the newfound one he had now.

 _Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad,_ Bilbo had considered, _should I live to see the quest through._

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** This was so hard to write because I need to keep reigning my innate desire to make some inappropriate jokes here and there. You can see the moments when my control slipped.  
>  **P.S.** I keep forgetting to mention this but I’ve decided to depict Bilbo as a demisexual, which, if I’m correct, means emotional attachment is needed before physical attraction comes in. Yeah, you won’t see our sweet innocent Bilbo salivating over anyone anytime soon. Thorin, meanwhile, is pan/bisexual. You can be the one to decide what the sexuality of the other dwarrows are ^_^
> 
>  
> 
> ****  
> **Constructive criticisms are very much welcome! Help me improve my writing, guys! And do point out any glaring errors. :D**  
>   
> 
> ****  
> **Have a productive day!**  
>  ~ Vividpast  
> 


	36. (Suicidal) Signs and Symptoms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** This is probably one of the most important chapters of this story; one that was planned from the very start. (What, no, I don’t make up the details of this story as I go . . . ) 
> 
> Thanks for all the (wonderful!!!) comments, (440!) favorites, (WTF, almost 600!) follows, (WTH, almost 500) bookmarks and (over 2000!) kudos! (Where are you guys coming from?? O.O). I really appreciate them all ^_^

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Dwalin punched Thorin in the shoulder, dislodging dwarf king’s grasp on the hobbit’s forearm. Thorin turned to his best friend, puzzled beyond measure. Bilbo looked in alarm.

“I had faith in ye,” Dwalin hissed, a fierce scowl upon his face. “I put a _lot_ of trust in ye!”

“. . . What in Mahal’s name . . ?”

Bofur finally stopped snickering to say, “So _much_ faith.”

Dwalin growled and turned his glare to the miner.

“What’s going on?” Bilbo blinked confusedly at Bofur and Dwalin.

“Dwalin ‘ere.” Bofur delightfully pointed a thumb at the said dwarf. “Just lost big money, tha’s what!”

“Money?” Comprehension brightened Thorin’s features. He cocked an unimpressed brow. “I see. And just what is this bet all about and who else is involved?”

“Bet?” Bilbo was even more befuddled.

“‘Tis about when the two of ye – ” Bofur gestured at the hobbit and the dwarf king. “ – will exchange first names, and who will offer first. The rest of the Company is involved, ‘course,” he gleefully informed them. “Dwalin bet that it’ll be in half-a-year and it’ll be Bilbo who’ll make the first move because ‘Thorin’s too stubborn ta give in first’.”

Dwalin’s glare intensified. Bofur didn’t even flinch.

Instead, the miner grinned and pressed a palm over his chest. “I, ‘course, knew the stubbornness of our king ‘ere will surrender to Bilbo’s charms. I said Thorin will offer first. Although I did bet it’ll be another month.” Bofur rubbed his chin, thoughtful. “If I remember correctly . . . hmm . . . aye, ‘tis Ori’s prediction that panned out . . .”

“That’s what you dwarrows bet about?” The incredulity in the hobbit’s tone was comical.

Bofur shrugged. “What else? Ye two are the only drama occurring in the Company.”

The twin looks of offended indignation the hobbit and dwarf king shot him were precious. Bofur couldn’t help but giggle. Dwalin himself failed to stifle a huff of laughter.

Thorin rubbed his temples. “I don’t know why I even bother.”

Bilbo let out a huff, pulling the flaps of Bofur’s hat closer to his ears as if it would drown out the miner’s silly laughter.

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After a few minutes, Bilbo had quickly fallen into deep slumber once more. The hobbit had valiantly tried to stay awake, insisting that he had slept enough, but eventually nodded off. Dwalin laid him back down and assured he was comfortable enough. Then, the three dwarrows guarded him, silent and counting the minutes until they needed to move again.

Thorin sat by the entrance while Dwalin guarded the back of the cave. Bofur sat beside the sleeping hobbit, using a finger to tap a soundless rhythm on his knee.  

Then, the comfortable silence was broken by curiously spoken words.

“So, how’d ye predict Bilbo’s sickness?” Thorin’s and Dwalin’s attention sharply snapped to Bofur. The dwarf cocked a brow in turn. “I’ve not forgotten what ye said earlier. Ye’ll leave Bilbo _when_ he shows signs of illness?” The miner’s eyes narrowed. “Ye two _knew_ this was going to happen. Possibly made plans for it.” The accusation in Bofur’s tone was unmistakable. “I want to know what’s going on.” It wasn’t a request.

Thorin sighed quietly. He had hoped Bofur had thrown it out of his mind.

Dwalin looked at Thorin, deferring to his judgment. The dwarf king contemplated for several moments, deciding what plan of action was best.

There was no going around it; they had already clued the miner in. Although some would be fooled by Bofur’s easy demeanor, Thorin knew that the miner was as astute as Balin and wouldn’t let a subject matter rest if he deemed it important enough. And clearly, matters concerning their burglar were at the top of Bofur’s concern.

The miner would believe no other explanation but the truth. And . . . he had the right to know, hadn’t he? Wasn’t he one of the hobbit’s closest friends in the Company?

Still, it should be Bilbo himself who should be divulging this if he wanted them to know.

“It is a private affair of Master – of Bilbo,” Thorin started, hoping to discourage the dwarf from prying.

“If it affects his well-bein’, then it is my business as well,” Bofur answered, unhesitant.

“You might not be able to do anything about it anyway,” Thorin warned.

Bofur met the king’s gaze and cocked a brow. “How about ye let me be the judge of that?”

Thorin sighed once more. Sometimes, he wished stubbornness didn’t run in every dwarrows’ veins. He conceded with a “Very well.”

He proceeded to tell Bofur everything – from the moment Dwalin overheard the conversation between Lord Elrond and Bilbo to the dwarrows’ discussions about the hobbit’s predicament. He spoke of their assumptions and conclusions; how the hobbit having a terminal illness answered most of the questions about his unusual behavior. Dwalin chipped in once in a while, adding his own insights and part of the whole thing. Bofur listened carefully, never interrupting and eyes never wavering in their gaze on both dwarrows.

“We believed that the onset of fever was a sign of his sickness getting worse,” Thorin finished, glancing at the hobbit.

It seemed a bit rude to be talking about Bilbo when he was right there but the hobbit never even stirred throughout their conversation. Thorin wished it would stay that way.

Bofur’s gaze went to the hobbit’s face. “It’s just a normal fever,” he said flatly.

Dwalin shrugged. “We realize that now.”

The miner turned to them, face eerily blank. A prickle of dread ran across the back of Thorin’s neck. He recalled the last time the miner looked that emotionless; Bifur had laid unconsciousness on the bed, axe upon his head, and Bofur had been told the chances of survival were slim. Thorin didn’t know what that look entailed now.

“Lord Elrond . . . He didn’t mention anything about the sickness being of the body.” Bofur’s tone was that of a statement than a question. “And ye said Oin didn’t find anythin’ unusual about him, physically.”

Thorin raised a brow. “But what else could it be?” Even as the words escaped his lips, the answer dawned on the dwarf king.

There was a madness that ran along Durin’s line, one Thorin refused to acknowledge but knew all too well. His grandfather was perfectly healthy in body but not sound in mind for many many years. His father had nearly fallen off the same edge. It was a sickness Thorin feared would grip him when the time came, and he tried to deny its existence in the hopes that it would not.

No, not all illnesses were of the body.

“An illness of the mind?” Dwalin looked at the unconscious hobbit like he was seeing the creature for the first time. “But – But, he has given no indication – He acts perfectly normal!”

Bofur’s lips pursed in a stern line. He crossed his arms, huddling more into his coat. A hint of anguish slipped into his features, marring his blank mask.

He opened his mouth and quietly muttered the damning words, “He let go, ye know. Up there, on that cliff.” The dwarf drew in a shaky breath. “He didn’t fall by mere accident.” Thorin’s and Dwalin’s eyes widened. “It was dark; I reckon my eyes was just deceivin’ me at first. I mean, why would he . . . ?”

A miner’s eyes were trained to be sharper than any other dwarf’s. No matter how dark it was, Bofur would rarely be mistaken of what he saw.

 _“I should have let go sooner.”_ were the careless words that slipped past the hobbit’s lips, fever making him less careful and coherent. There was no doubt about it. Bilbo _had_ planned to fall all along.

 _But why?_ The question once again haunted Thorin’s mind. What kind of sickness of the mind had supposedly afflicted their burglar that he would . . . The answer hit Thorin like a mace in the chest. _It can’t be . . ._

“But now, ye’re tellin’ me about this sickness.” Bofur continued, shaking his head. He couldn’t seem to look at the hobbit by his side. “I’ve been suspecting it for a while, what with the way he handled the trolls.” The miner let out a humorless laugh. “Got to be observant on these kinds of things after . . . after what happened to Bifur.”

“Bifur?” Dwalin frowned, thoughtful.

“Depression,” Thorin said monotonously. The dwarrows’ attention snapped to him. “Bifur had experienced severe bouts of depression after he received his wound.” Thorin crossed his arms.  He met Bofur’s eyes, expression grim. “You believe our burglar is afflicted with the same illness.”

“Aye.” Bofur sighed. He rubbed his face with his good arm. “It’s all speculation, mind. But now that I look back on it, he’s been displayin’ symptoms. The lack of appetite, the constant tiredness . . .” The dwarf paused, eyes finally straying to the hobbit. He leaned down and fixed the cloak on Bilbo so that it wrapped more snugly around him. “ . . . and the suicide attempts.”

Dwalin’s eyes almost bulged out of its socket. “Th-The _what_?”

If depression truly ailed the hobbit, then it was not so farfetched to think that the not-so-accidental fall had been an attempt to end his own life. This sordid fact, Thorin had already deduced.

After Smaug’s desolation upon their home, Thorin was not inexperienced when it came to such matters. However, depressed dwarrows rarely reached the stage wherein they preferred death over life – communities often helping them recover – which made it all the more devastating if they did. Bilbo might be no dwarf but Thorin found the blow of the realization did not lessen.

The dwarf’s stomach rolled unpleasantly at the notion, although Thorin knew not why he was so heavily affected. He and the hobbit might have become friends but that was quite a recent thing.

“Attempts?” Thorin asked, catching on to Bofur’s wording. “You believe there has been more than one.”

Bofur nodded, smoothing the flap of the hat over the hobbit’s ear. “The incident with the trolls, for one. And up there on the mountain ledge, while we were crossing. He nearly fell about five times before this one.”

“Wait, wait, ye mean . . .” Mounting horror painted Dwalin’s expression. “When he was bein’ clumsy and kept slippin’, he actually . . .” Dwalin vehemently shook his head. “Look, we’re gettin’ ‘head of ourselves here. We’ve no proof that the burglar truly has depression!” Dwalin gestured at the said hobbit and reasoned, “He’s cheerful at times and acts like a proper – hobbit or somethin’ like that. He may tire easily because he is unused to life on the road. And he does eat quite heartily sometimes.”

Dwalin just couldn’t believe that a soft creature such as Master Baggins, seemingly untouched by the atrocities of the world, could have such morbid intentions.

“Perhaps,” Thorin conceded. “However . . . He said something, while I was carrying him.” The dwarf king closed his eyes, trying to recall the words and the way they had been spoken. “He told me that _when_ he dies, Nori will be a good replacement for him as a burglar.” He opened his eyes and met Dwalin’s startled gaze. “He spoke with surety, as if it is inevitable. He is very assured he will find his death on this journey. And if he is physically hale, then the only way he knows with such certainty is because he will ensure it.”

Brooding silence followed Thorin’s remarks. Dwalin swallowed audibly, glancing once more at the burglar as if he could discover the answer to their question by looking alone.

“Ye never really know about these things,” Bofur said, releasing another tired and resigned sigh. “But we need to make sure. I don’t want to spend the rest of this journey worrying whether one of my friends wants to off himself.” The miner’s eyes softened as they landed on the hobbit. “We’re goin’ to have to talk to him about it. The matter has to be broached delicately lest he just laughs it off or evades it.”

Thorin’s lips quirked up. So Bofur had too noticed the hobbit’s tendency to skillfully avoid unwanted topics in conversations.

“And how do you prop –” Thorin cut himself off as he registered a skittering noise.

Before he could begin to process what he heard, Dwalin whipped around to look behind him with his axe raised.

That was as far as the warrior got before he got smacked by something hard, halting all thought process. Pain erupted at the back of his head, axe falling from his loose grip. His vision blackened within seconds and he went down in a crumpled heap. Before he fell into full unconsciousness, he felt bony hands grab onto his legs and haul him back.

“Dwalin!” Both Bofur and Thorin roared, getting to their feet and swiftly pulling out their weapons.

Bilbo sat up with a start. “Huh? What’s . .  . What . . .”

Dwalin was dragged deeper into the cave in astonishing speed. Thorin and Bofur dashed inside without thinking, losing the little moonlight they had.

Then, Thorin halted and pushed Bofur back. Bofur hissed, injured arm jostled, but Thorin had no time to apologize.

“Stay with Bilbo,” he ordered. “There may be more of them.”

Bofur looked reluctant but eventually nodded, thinking of their vulnerable member. “Aye. Be careful.” He said before turning back to the mouth of the cave.

Thorin wasted no time. He ran like he had wargs upon his heels, following the winding paths of the tunnel.

It was dark and his eyes were useless. It mattered not; stone-sense guided his way, making him aware of every crevice and every jutting rock. Thorin placed a hand over the stone walls, feeling the cave’s vibrations at the smallest of movements.

There was something hissing and gurgling. A slimy croaky voice spoke, startling Thorin. “Yes, yes, yesss. Gollum, Gollum!” it choked out. “Is it goblinses, preciousss? Goblinses nasssty, nasssty. Better than old bonesss, preciouss. Better than nothing.” It murmured in a continuous stream.

What was it planning to do? What had it already done? Thorin stamped the anxiousness building in his throat at the thought of his friend’s fate.

He could not hear anymore footsteps nor any more voices, leading him to the conclusion that there was only perpetrator. However, judging by the continuous sound of a body being lugged, the enemy’s strength shouldn’t be underestimated.

The noises grew nearer and Thorin knew he was close. He brandished his sword, preparing to lunge at whoever dared attack one of his own.

He stealthily drew towards their location, his steps quiet. He might not be able to see anything but he knew Dwalin was only a few feet away now.

Then, a most unfortunate thing happened; Thorin’s next step caused him to accidentally kick a loose rock on the ground. The stone skittered noisily across the floor, sound echoing in the empty space.

The sudden silence that followed was deafening.

The mutterings of the perpetrator abruptly ceased. Dwalin was no longer being moved.

Thorin tensed, whipping his sword in front and by his sides, knowing he lost whatever advantage he had. He could feel no vibration from the rocks nor hear any further noises.

The enemy acted too slyly, movements becoming mere whispers in the air. It also could probably see in the dark, unlike Thorin.

Therefore, there really was no warning at all.

A sharp rock hit the dwarf’s temple with brutal force. He stumbled back and instinctively lashed out at the direction of the attack. He caught nothing; the enemy must have thrown at quite a distance.

He felt blood slowly trickling down the side of his cheek, sticky and uncomfortable. The wound let out a dull throb but Thorin ignored it, trying hard to shake the dizziness starting to cloud his mind. He lifted his sword, alert for any sound or wisp of movement.

“Are you such a coward that you would fight in a distance?” Thorin taunted, hoping to make the enemy reveal itself.

“What isss it? Another goblinses? Gollum, Gollum!” it hissed, giving away its location.

Thorin charged without hesitation, swiping his sword. His sword hit flesh and sliced it easily. Absently, he registered a soft tinkling sound upon the rocks but it was drowned out by his enemy’s cry of pain. The dwarf didn’t stop his assault, hacking and slashing but the enemy seemed to predict his movements. Other than Thorin’s first attack, it dodged each and every one.

Then, strangely thin hands grabbed onto the dwarf’s tunic and pulled him down. He overbalanced, head wound contributing to his uncharacteristic clumsiness. His head spun but he continued grappling with the unseen enemy, hoping to get ahold of it.

He felt clammy slippery skin but wasn’t successful.

The back of his head exploded with agony as another stone made its way to it. He landed flat on the ground, unconsciousness clawing at the edges of his mind. He attempted to shake it away. He couldn’t afford to fail! Dwalin was . . .

The enemy cackled, lifting the rock again and hitting Thorin’s skull with unforgiving force.

“Another meaty mouthful, preciousss,” were the last words the dwarf heard before he succumbed to the darkness of a more blissful kind.

❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**   
>  Poor Dwalin and Thorin . . . 
> 
> Man, I felt like this chapter was quite a rollercoaster; started from humor, then angst, then action and suspense. Well . . . I don’t know what came over me because that last part with Gollum certainly wasn’t part of the plan! But then I started writing it, watching and enjoying Thorin suffer and I said, “This could work.” Hope it could, brain, hope it could.
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcome! Help me improve my writing, guys!
> 
> Have a fantastic day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	37. (Suicidal) Attempt: Gollum I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Filler chapter ahoy! This was supposed to contain the riddle sequence but it became too long. So, I split it into 2 chapters instead! 
> 
> Thanks for all the (wonderful!!!) comments, favorites, follows, bookmarks and (over 2000!) kudos! I really appreciate them all so much ^_^

❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤

_You lift your trusty sword up and meet blades with a shadowy form. You parry its attacks, ears ringing from each strike. The shadow – more of a familiarly shaped curly-haired blob, really – mirrors your every movement, swinging its own weapon in sync with yours._

_You frown in concentration, recalling the dwarrows’ instructions during training; how to look for an opponent’s weakness and how to take advantage of it –_

_You catch the path of your thoughts and abruptly halts it. You do not want to know the enemy’s weakness because you **do not** want to win. What are you doing? This is another spectacular chance to claim your death and you are about to waste it._

_You cease your struggles and leave yourself unguarded, undefended. Unfortunately, the shadow’s movements stop with yours. For several moments, both of you simply stands there, gazing at each other like mindless rabbits. You give it an irritating glance, wondering why it suddenly decides to spare you._

_You unconsciously shift your hold upon your weapon, lowering it a bit. The shadow does the same. You cock a brow, surprised. The shadow emulates it perfectly. Then, you raise your left arm and wave._

_The blob waves back._

_Ah._

_Lifting your sword once more, you know what you have to do. You swiftly and unhesitatingly stab the shadow in front of you. The sword goes through the form without hitting anything solid, which is reasonable seeing it is, in fact, a shadow._

_Of course, this action is one the blob does not imitate. You sigh. You do not know why you even bother._

_Instead, the shadow tilts its head-like part. “Curious, is it not?” It speaks with a cadence similar to yours, and is joined by a mix of other unidentifiable echoing voices. “How you say you want to die –”_

_“And I do,” You interject._

_“But truly,” it continues like you have not spoken. “You, fool of a Took and blind of a Baggins, are merely so very afraid to live.”_

_You open your mouth but found no sensible reply to its remark. You cross your arms, sword miraculously disappearing from your grasp. “That doesn’t even make sense,” you say, brows furrowing._

_It laughs, unrestrained amusement oozing from its form. “Perhaps not now.” Then, the shadow’s jaw opens wide and it shouts,_ “DWALIN!”

Bilbo came awake instantly, extremely disoriented. He opened his eyes just in time to see Bofur and Thorin dash further into the cave, Dwalin nowhere in sight.

The hobbit’s mind slowly gathered itself, processing what happened. Had they decided to desert him after all? Although, they left the packs too . . .

Then, Bofur was coming back, expression dark. Had he come back to retrieve the supplies? Bilbo shook his head; no, no, no, Bofur wouldn’t allow the hobbit to be left behind, would he? If there was one thing Bilbo knew about the dwarf, it was that he was an extremely loyal friend.

“What happened?” Bilbo inquired calmly, deciding that speculating wouldn’t get him far. The miner started pacing the width of the cave. “Where’s – Where’s Mister Dwalin and T-Thorin?” The hobbit hoped the answer wouldn’t be in the lines of ‘Thorin considered things further and concluded that leaving you behind would be the best course of action after all but not to worry; I’ll stay behind with you.’

“A goblin or somethin’ got to Dwalin,” Bofur started, grip tight on his mattock. “‘T’was too fast. They dragged him inside the cave, and Thorin went and followed them.” Then, the miner muttered quietly to himself. “I didn’t see anythin’. There was _no one_ there. The rock that hit Dwalin came out of nowhere. How . . . ?”

“O-Oh.” Bilbo gave a wide-eyed glance at the darkness at the back of the cave. On second thought, mayhaps the hobbit’s first assumption would have been a far better course of events.

Someone had bested Dwalin? Bilbo simply couldn’t imagine it; while he knew, in a practical sense, that the dwarf was as mortal as the hobbit himself, Bilbo had been under the illusion that Dwalin was invincible. With the axes and gruff exterior, it was difficult to think otherwise.

It then occurred to the hobbit that all of his companions had a very real chance of perishing in this journey. It wasn’t that Bilbo wasn’t aware of this before – the experience with the trolls and the mountains attested to that – but he would forget the fact as soon as the dangers passed. More so when all of them got out of the perils relatively unscathed. It was as if a screen of illusion came up before his eyes, shielding him from the bitter cruel reality of his companion’s possible demise. And now, Bilbo was disillusioned once more.

His stomach churned, and he felt like he had been doused with cold water. The hobbit naively assumed that death would befall him and no else. Yavanna, how thoughtless could he be?

“Shouldn’t you be going with them?” If the goblin or goblins had defeated _Dwalin_ , then it should not to be underestimated.

“More of them might come through here,” Bofur replied.

Bilbo read between the lines and realized the dwarf’s reason for staying behind. “I’ll be fine, Bofur,” he reassured.

Bofur looked skeptical, which was reasonable seeing as Bilbo could still feel the effects of his fever. He doubted he could even stand upright, let alone fight off whatever threat that came his way.

But Bofur didn’t have to know that, did he?

“Truly!” he exclaimed. “Go follow them.”

Bofur merely shook his head, tapping nimble fingers on the handle of his mattock. Bilbo crossed his arms and sighed. Perhaps he was being such a worrywart for nothing at all. He settled in to wait.

The minutes that followed were tense. The only sounds were the scuffs Bofur’s boots made as he continued pacing. The hobbit didn’t take his eyes off the back of the cave, anticipating the return of the dwarrows.

Awful scenarios ran through Bilbo’s mind as time passed with no sign of their triumph. Dwalin and Thorin lying on the ground, bloodied and lifeless, the goblins cackling around them while the two of them here waited in ignorance. Thorin and Dwalin, falling down a deep pit and unable to climb up without the proper tools, growing hungry and thirsty.

Bilbo twisted his hands, anxiety gnawing at his chest like an ugly all-consuming monster. Bofur looked no better.

Finally, after what seemed like days but was probably mere minutes, Bilbo could take it no longer.

The dwarf king and the hobbit just exchanged names and Bilbo did not endured the dwarf’s rudeness just for Thorin to up and disappear right after he had offered friendship. And Bilbo still hadn’t gotten the opportunity to offer Dwalin his first name! The dwarf had been his main mentor in sword training and really, he should have thought to offer sooner.

So, the hobbit refused to sit idly by while those two get themselves in trouble.

“They should be back by now.” The hobbit glanced around, looking for his sword. He found it nestled between their packs.

Bofur flinched at his words. “Aye, they should be.” The miner’s voice sounded bewildered as he asked, “ Wha . . . What are you doing?”

Bilbo had grabbed his sword and was in the process of standing up, using the weapon as support. As soon as Bofur realized his intention, he came forward to stop him.

Dizziness clouded his mind but Bilbo found he could push it away, determined as he was to stand on his own two feet.

“Bilbo –”

“Look, Bofur,” Bilbo started firmly, knees wobbling as he straightened. Just a bit, mind. “If Thorin and Mister Dwalin had indeed ran into trouble, it’s better we act now before it became too late.” He glanced at the back of the cave once more. Then, he brought his gaze back to Bofur. “And seeing as you refuse to leave me behind, I’m coming with.”

Although he knew he would more of a hindrance than a help when it came down to a fight, Bilbo would rather fight nonetheless than sit around worrying. Furthermore, the only thing stopping Bofur from going after their companions was the fact that he was leaving the hobbit behind. Bilbo wouldn’t let him choose.

Bofur looked contemplative, which boded well. He must be as anxious as Bilbo. His gaze flitted between the path ahead and the sick hobbit in front of him. “Aye, aye.Perhaps I should go and check while ye –”

Bilbo shot him a venomous glare.

“ – join me, aye.” Bofur finished with a chuckle, amused at the hobbit’s attempt to intimidate him. It would be better to stick together, both of them being incapacitated in some way. Plus, the miner would like to keep an eye on the hobbit himself.

“Good.” Bilbo patted the dwarf’s shoulder, smiling. “I’m glad we understand each other, Bofur.”

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Bilbo had never been afraid of the dark; when he was a kit, he used to wander around his lightless room, pretending he had the ability to see in the dark. He expertly fought off the monsters that didn’t have such abilities. Of course, some of those ventures left dark bruises on his shins and arms when he bumped into the furniture. His father had been sick with worry, thinking that someone had been hurting him. His mother had laughed in a way unlike of a lady hobbit when Bilbo admitted his nighttime adventures.

Although their companions were missing and the situation was taking a turn for the worse, Bilbo couldn’t help but feel like he had during those play times. The darkness enclosing around them, unknown enemies ahead, a sword by his waist . . . he was practically in a story book.

Bilbo resisted the urge to giggle. Mayhaps his fever refused to abate after all.

He tightened his hold onto the back of Bofur’s cloak as they meandered in the dark (the hobbit couldn’t possibly hold Bofur’s injured arm!). Bilbo had made sure to sheathed his sword before they go; it wouldn’t do well to alert the goblins in the form of a glowing blade. Besides, Bilbo was still feeling a bit woozy and he feared would accidentally maim Bofur.

With Bilbo’s feeble and blind state, they trotted quite slowly along the darkened path. Bofur’s senses prevented them from coming to a dead end or hitting any jutting rocks. The dwarf himself was clearly agitated but Bilbo said nothing of it. The only thing that would calm Bofur down was the sight of their missing companions.

After half-an-hour of sluggish walking and deafening silence, the hobbit broke it. He haphazardly kicked something heavy on the ground, causing a cacophonous sound. Both of them startled, Bilbo accidentally letting go of Bofur. He stepped on something  smooth and slipped. His feet tangled with themselves and, with lightheadedness stealing his balance, the only way to go was down. Bilbo yelped; he was more indignant of the fact that his own trustworthy feet had betrayed him more than anything. Bofur spun around and attempted to catch him but acted too late. Bilbo landed hard on his hand and knees, and he grimaced. Stupid, clumsy, burdensome . . .

Bilbo’s inner chastising halted as he felt two different things under his palms.

His left hand closed around an object that was too cold and too smooth to be a small stone. He plucked it from the ground, curious. He rolled it on his palm, feeling the texture and shape . . . a ring? What in Yavanna’s name was a ring doing in these parts?

Soon, however, his focus went to the article his right hand had grabbed. Cold cylindrical steel was lined with sleek grooves. And when Bilbo moved it slightly, he heard the familiar clang against stone.

“Bilbo, are ye alright?” Bofur kneeled before the hobbit, searching for any kind of wound by touch.

“Orcrist,” Bilbo breathed, fear of what this entailed spreading to his chest. Any lingering playfulness he might have felt vanished.

“What?”

The hobbit grabbed Bofur’s hand and led it to the hilt of the sword he had stumbled upon. Bofur inhaled sharply, coming to the same conclusion.

Bilbo had worried, yes. However, the hobbit had been in denial after all. He hoped that they would wander and find Thorin and Dwalin hale, and the former would scold them for leaving the packs behind.

The fact that they found Thorin’s sword with the owner himself nowhere near . . . Bilbo swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat.

Bofur cursed.

“We need to find them quickly.” Bofur lifted the hobbit up to his feet. Bilbo let him, holding Thorin’s sword securely in one hand.

At the word ‘quickly’, Bilbo found himself coming to an epiphany. He could no longer come with. “No, Bofur.” He whispered, the steel around his hands helping him come to a decision. “ _You_ need to find them quickly.” The hobbit did not need to see Bofur’s questioning gaze to know his confusion. “This sword here is proof that they need help immediately. And we cannot give them that if there is a sick hobbit slowing you down.”

Bofur growled. “For the last time, I’m not gonna–”

“ – leave me behind, I know.” Bilbo sighed. “But you cannot take me further. I would be a hindrance more than anything. And right now, we can’t afford that. Thorin and Mister Dwalin _can’t_ afford that.”

There was a pregnant pause. Then, Bofur released a resigned sigh, seemingly seeing reason.

But apparently not as he started leading the hobbit forward.

“Bofur –”

“There’s a crevice here.” Bofur said. Gently, he pushed Bilbo inside and sat him down. The hobbit felt strong unwielding stone by his sides but there was enough space to prevent him from feeling claustrophobic. Bofur bent down and continued speaking, “Ye’ll stay here and I’ll come back to get you after I find the others.”

“Alright.” As much as Bilbo wanted to join Bofur in his search, there was nothing else he could do. “Oh. And here.” The hobbit removed Bofur’s hat from his head and placed settled atop the dwarf’s. “This will serve as your good-luck charm in my stead.”

Bofur chuckled and Bilbo internally cried in triumph. It seemed he had successfully lessened thee dwarf’s unrest.

“I suppose it’ll have to do ‘till I come back.” Bofur fixed the hat around his hair.

And if Bofur didn’t get to come back for him? The hobbit frowned, looking for the honest answer within himself. That . . . would be fine, he supposed. It would be frightening, certainly, to aimlessly wander around in the dark. On the other hand, Bilbo had two swords with him; he had options other than starving to death.

Internally, Bilbo couldn’t help but sigh in relief. With the passing thought of wishing to survive the quest and his recent dream, he feared his resolve for death had weakened. It was good to know otherwise.

Callused fingers tangled in his hair, startling Bilbo out of his musings. Bofur drew the hobbit in and pressed their foreheads together. The hobbit merely let him, frozen in shock. For dwarrows, such gestures were embarrassingly intimate, Bilbo had come to learn.

“Listen to me, Bilbo,” Bofur said softly, breaths mingling with the hobbit’s. He said it in a tone Bilbo had never heard the dwarf use. “Ye’re my friend and . . . I need ye to promise me ye’ll be safe. That ye’ll do whatever it takes to keep yourself safe.”

“I . . .” What had gotten into Bofur?

The dwarf gave him a small shake. “Promise me ye’re not gonna run off towards any danger. That ye’ll stay out of harm’s way. Promise me.”

“Bofur . . . I . . .” What was happening? Bilbo couldn’t possibly promise that! The hobbit thought fast. “I - I would do whatever it takes.” There. Not quite a promise to do what Bofur asked.

The dwarf’s hand twitched. “I see.” Bofur pulled back and picked up his weapon with his good arm. “Don’t ye try anything. I’ll be back soon.”

Then, the dwarf leaned down, his moustache tickling Bilbo’s skin as he planted a kiss upon the hobbit’s forehead like one would do to a scared child. Bilbo blushed and he was sure his fever just spiked. Before he could say anything, Bofur had already ambled ahead.

The hobbit was left tucked in a cranny, touching his forehead. He found himself utterly bewildered but secretly gladdened of the sudden affectionate gestures he had been bestowed.

❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** As you could see, I really like bromance. There’s not nearly enough in the real world.  
>  Riddle sequence ahead! For those who thought I was going to take the ring and Gollum seriously . . . I apologize in advance.
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcome! Kindly point out any glaring errors. Help me improve my writing, guys!
> 
> Have a productive day! (unlike me)  
> ~ Vividpast


	38. (Suicidal) Attempt: Gollum II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Crack up ahead! This is probably one of the crackiest thing I’ve ever written. Please don’t kill me ^_^
> 
> Thanks for all the (wonderful!!!) comments, favorites, follows, bookmarks and (over 2500!) kudos! I really appreciate them all so much ^_^
> 
> Die laughing or burst in anger. Either way, enjoy ~

❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤

Bilbo leaned back against the rock, placing Thorin’s sword across his lap. Bofur had acted quite strange, hadn’t he? He sounded unreasonably concerned . . . Perhaps he was still worried about Bilbo’s fever?

He recalled the forehead press and kiss, and again flushed. His mother had been the last one to gave him similarly fond treatment. To think that he would experience such again years later was a pleasant surprise indeed. Bilbo was past the age of craving such things but he couldn’t seem to help but want it nonetheless.

Bilbo had known dwarrows were a tactile bunch with their family and friends, what with the friendly backslapping, headbutts and one-armed hugs . . . The hobbit blinked. Thinking back on it, Bilbo had been the recipient of such for several weeks now. Fili and Kili cuddling with him, Dwalin giving an approving clap on his back after training, Bifur and Bombur and Oin ruffling his hair, Dori enthusiastically backslapping him after one of his tales, Nori slinging an arm around his shoulder as they train, Ori leaning against him during their campfire stories, Gloin punching his arm after hearing the hobbit’s praise about his family, Balin placing a gentle hand upon his shoulder . . . Even Thorin had once a squeezed shoulder in encouragement! Bofur’s recent actions, of course, took the cake.

In retrospect, Bilbo’s insecurities about his place in the company seemed a tiny bit unfounded. Perhaps Thorin hadn’t been lying when he insisted that the hobbit truly was part of the Company.

Bilbo couldn’t quite curb the delighted smile that painted his face.

His attention went back to the sword on his lap and he remembered his current predicament. He sighed and patted the sword as if it would bring comfort to the missing dwarrows.

His fingers brushed against his waistcoat and he stilled.

“What have I got in my pocket?” He murmured and fished the object out.

It was a ring, _the_ ring he picked up earlier. He must have placed it in his pocket without thinking, distracted was he upon finding Orcrist. Bilbo looked at it closer, strangely drawn by such a simple thing; it was made of gold, that much he was certain. It glittered quite attractively and he was suddenly gripped with the urge to put it on, to feel it around his hand. Bilbo thought better of it. The ring was too small for any of the hobbit’s finger. It would probably get stuck, and cut off any circulation; he would have to let the dwarrows amputate the digit. No, sir, he was not losing any of his fingers today.

Bilbo then belatedly realized that he could _see_ the ring.

He glanced around with wide eyes. Darkness still enveloped him but it no longer seemed like he was blind. He could see the outline of the rocks in the cave, of the ridges in the stone. Orcrist shone dully in the meager light and Bilbo noted the dark taint on the blade. He pursed his lips; he sincerely hoped it was neither Thorin nor Dwalin’s blood.

He also realized that the nook he was in was no nook at all. He looked behind him. It was an entrance to some other path of the cave.

It was also where the sudden source of light was emanating.

Bilbo blinked at the pathway, curious. Should he . . .? But Bofur might come back and panic when he saw that the hobbit was not where he left him. On the other hand, this path with the light was one Bilbo could search in; it would beat sitting around on his backside and doing nothing. He would search for Thorin and Dwalin, and quickly go back upon finding nothing. Bofur would be none the wiser.

Mind made up, he shakily climbed to his feet, using Orcrist as a crutch. The tunnel opened up into a large chamber with high dome-like ceilings. Stalactites pointed threateningly down, giving the whole place a scary ambience. There was a shallow pond, weakly reflecting the light coming from above. Bilbo lifted his gaze up but could not discern what was producing it.

Choking sounds tore Bilbo from his wanderings. Wait, no . . . that was . . . singing?

“~ δ ~ The cold hard lands ~ δ ~

~ δ ~ They bites our hands ~ δ ~

~ δ ~ They gnaws our feet ~ δ ~”

While the voice and song didn’t sound at all pleasant, Bilbo would give the singer points for their enthusiasm. Bilbo unsheathed his own sword an inch and found it as dull as ever. Not a goblin or orc but not necessarily a friend either.

He heard some cloth rustling and metal softly clinking on the stones.

The hobbit padded closer to the pond, trying to glimpse the other creature.

“~ δ ~ The rocks and stones; they’re like old bones ~ δ ~

~ δ ~ All bare of meat ~ δ ~

~ δ ~ Cold as death, without no breath ~ δ ~”

The hobbit contemplated that for a few moments. “That’s a double negative,” he lowly muttered, frowning in confusion.

Since lowly muttering wasn’t in his skill set and given the acoustics of the spacious cavern, his words echoed louder than he expected.

The singing abruptly ceased. It seemed Bilbo had been discovered.

The hobbit caught something moving at the corner of his eye. He turned and peered at the source. There was an enormous rock outcropping at the other end of the pond, and Bilbo could make out some unusual figures upon it. He saw no other movement.

Maybe the creature had scurried away. Bilbo shrugged and went on to search for his dwarven companions.

A soft _thud_ drew his attention behind him and he spun around, instinctively lifting the sword in his hands.

He nearly stabbed a small skeletal pale creature with large eyes. Bilbo couldn’t help but let out a gasp; it was the most pitiful sight he had ever laid his eyes on.

The creature backed away from the pointed end of the blade, sneering. They had very few but very sharp teeth.

“Um, hello,” Bilbo greeted, feeling guilty about his initial notions about the creature and the fact that he almost killed them.

While they looked a bit like one of the monsters parents tell their faunts at night, their arms didn’t even seem strong enough to lift a small rock. Bilbo could even count their ribs from where he was standing. The hobbit lowered Thorin’s sword and tried to appear non-threatening.

“It’s got an elfish blade,” they said. “But it’s not an elfs. Not an elfs, no. What is it, precious?” They sized the hobbit up like his mere existence disgusted them.

The hobbit tried not to feel offended.

“Ah, no, I’m afraid not.” Bilbo replied. “ My name is Bilbo Baggins. I’m a hobbit from the Shire.”

Then, his eyes strayed to still bleeding cut on the creature’s arm. His gaze turned to Thorin’s sword, to the spot where blood had congealed. All feelings of guilt and camaraderie vanished.

His eyes narrowed at the creature. There was little doubt that Thorin himself had encountered them. He slowly raised Orcrist once more.

“Ooh.” The creature brightened. “We like goblinses, batses, and fishes. But we hasn’t tried hobbitses before.”

Tried? What did that mean? Bilbo shook his head. “Now, now, I don’t like any trouble but it occurred to me that you may have encountered some of my friends.”

“Friendses?”

“Yes, yes. They’re dwarrows. You must have seen them, seeing as this is your blood on their sword,” Bilbo said calmly.

The creature focused their attention on the sword, brows furrowing.  Then, their features alight with realization. “Ah, ah! Gollum, Gollum, we remembers. Nasty, nasty foodses with swordses.” They rubbed their injured arm in remembrance, spreading wet blood on their skin.

Bilbo blanched. “F-Food?” It couldn’t be . . . No, no, Bilbo would not accept it! He growled, thrusting the blade forward in a clear threat. “Where are they? Where have you taken them?”

The skeletal creature, Gollum (as they said), blinked their faunt-like eyes. Then, they jumped up in excited glee. “We knows! We knows where hobbitses friendses are.” They started pointing this way and that. “Dwarrows friendses!” Before Bilbo could ask for more specific directions, their face crumpled in anger as they shouted, “Shut up!”

“I . . . haven’t said anything.”

“We wasn’t talking to you,” Gollum snapped. In a much lower voice, they said, “Oh yes, we was, precious. We was.”

Right.

It would be Bilbo’s luck to encounter an obviously deranged creature.

“Look, I don’t know what your game is but you will point me –”

“Games!?” Gollum laughed in delight, hopping on top of a boulder. Bilbo startled at the sudden enthusiasm. “Oh, we love games, don’t we, precious? Does it like games? Does it, does it? Does it like to play?” They asked in one breath.

Maybe Gollum really was a fauntling, seeing as they had a mindset of one. Bilbo could take advantage of this. “It depends. If I win, will you tell me where my friends are?”

“Yess, yesssss.” If Gollum nodded anymore, their head would fall off their shoulders. Then, they turned their head to the side to have a private conversation. “And if it loses? What then? Well, if it loses, precious, then we eats it!” They turned once more to Bilbo with a guileless smile. “If Bagginses loses, we eats it whole.”

Another realization struck the hobbit. It made him lightheaded. “M-My friends? Have you e-eaten them? Tell me what you’ve done with them!” Bilbo was too late. Thorin and Dwalin were . . .

Gollum growled. “We thought we was playing games!” They appeared to be growing angry.

This wasn’t good. Anger means a fight. While Bilbo would not hesitate to fight the creature that most certainly hurt his friends, he still needed Gollum to find them. If Gollum hadn’t reacted the hobbit’s threats before, Bilbo doubted they would in the future. Threatening them was out of the equation.

Bilbo took a deep breath, staving away the panic building in his throat. He plastered on a strained smile. “Yes, yes, we are. B-But it’s unfair. If my friends are d-dead, then finding them would be useless. I get nothing if I win the game. Surely you understand,” he reasoned.

Gollum thought over his words. They nodded in assent. “Bagginses friendses live. We hasn’t eaten them.” They bared their teeth in a facsimile of a smile. “Not yet.”

Bilbo sighed relief, instantly believing the little creature. “Alright, alright.” The hobbit lowered Orcrist. “What kind of game are we playing?”

Gollum grinned and lifted his head proudly. “What has roots as nobody sees? Is taller than trees? Up, up, up, it goes. And yet, never grows,” he recited quite dramatically before turning expectantly to Bilbo.

Oh, oh, a game of riddles! Now this, Bilbo could confidently win . . . But should he really depend on his skills as a riddlemaker? There was a lot at stake here. The dwarrows relied on him to save them from this creature. If Bilbo, by chance, lost, their lives were certainly forfeited. His life was not the only thing he was risking . . .

Bilbo’s eyes widened. The fever had toasted his brain! This was another chance to claim his death. Yet, here he was, playing games with a creature in a lose-all-win-all scenario. He was not going to let this slip like the attempts before.

Bilbo found his suicidal thoughts lessening recently, which was probably why he had not seen this as an opportunity at first. Why, just last week, he went the whole day free of such notions! It frightened him at that time but he was glad that the next day, he entertained a healthy number of scenarios about his death.

Well, no more suicidal thoughts. This time, he was going to put them into action and end everything once and for all. There were no dwarrows to save him this time since he would be the one doing the saving.

(At the back of his mind, a small voice told him to think of Bofur, Fili, Kili, and the others, to think of how disappointed and hurt they would be should he go through with this. And they would be hurt because for some insane reason, they had learned to care for him. Another voice stamped it out, saying that all good things last not, and it was better he leave while they still have a good impression of him.)

A plan blossomed in his mind. He always was a quick thinker when it came to such matters.

“Is it stuck?” Gollum’s jeering voice broke Bilbo out of his musings. “Bagginses is stuck.”

“Wha – Oh, yes. Mountain. The answer is mountain.”

“Yes, yes!” Gollum giggled. “Now ask us one!”

“Wait, wait, I want to change our terms,” Bilbo interrupted firmly. The creature’s eyes narrowed. “Nothing that will put you in a disadvantage. Ah, um, if you win, you will take me to my friends and let them go.” Gollum’s expression started darkening so Bilbo hurriedly added, “But! But you will get to eat me, of course. You said you haven’t tried hobbits before, have you?”

Gollum warily nodded.

“Hobbits are most delicious creatures, you see, especially if cooked properly –”

“We likes our food raw.” Gollum interjected sweetly.

“Oh, right . . . Nonetheless, you’ll enjoy eating me, I assure you.” Bilbo smiled. “I’m soft and tender. Better than dwarrows. They have hair _everywhere_. Not at all appetizing.”

The hobbit would rather skip the whole game and just offer himself as food in exchange. However, he learned his lesson with the trolls; creatures tend to grow suspicious and hesitate when their prey was too eager to be eaten. So Bilbo would participate in this game of riddles and purposely lose. Losing, after all, was easier to do than trying to win.

Safe dwarrows, dead hobbit. Perfect.

“Yes, hair, hair. Nasty on throats. Gollum, Gollum” Gollum made choking sounds, nodding rapidly. “What does Bagginses wants if it wins?”

Bilbo stilled. “If I win? Hmm . . . I suppose, ah, I’ll let you eat the dwarrows instead . . .? And I’ll scuttle away.” He shrugged. It wouldn’t happen anyway.

Gollum tilted their head in thought. Then, he grinned. “Go ahead then. Bagginses turn. Ask us, ask us a question!”

Bilbo looked up in thought. What was a good question to ask? Something even a fauntling could answer . . . Aha. He turned to Gollum with a wide smile. “Six plus four?” There. A simple mathematical equation.

“Huh?” Gollum frowned. “Sixes . . . fourses?”

Bilbo faltered. “Y-Yes. You know, maths. Y-You need to add them.”

“We knows, we knows mathses!” Gollum brightened and Bilbo thought they were going to give an answer. But Gollum merely frowned, nose scrunching. They opened their mouth, then closed it again, blue eyes darting everywhere. “Give us three guesses,” they pleaded, holding up two fingers.

Oh dear.

“Perhaps I should just give you another –”

“Give us a chance, precious. Give us a chance!” Gollum cried out, pounding his fists on the rocks.

“I insist –”

“Fiveses!”

“Uh, no –”

“Oneses, yes, oneses!”

“Wait, no, stop, please,” Bilbo almost screamed. There was only one guess left. “How about I give you a hint, yes?”

“Hintses? Bagginses will?” Gollum looked utterly bewildered and a bit suspicious. Bilbo supposed they had the right to be.

“Look here.” Bilbo placed Orcrist down on the ground. He thought for a moment then decided to sit down himself. He was feeling a bit feeble. He held up all fingers in one hand and one finger in the other. “Six. Six fingers, right?”

Gollum crawled closer, eyes wide as they can be.

Bilbo put down a hand and held up four fingers in the remaining one. “Four. Now I add this one to the previous six.” Bilbo opened both of his palms and showed all of his fingers. “Now, how many do I have?”

Gollum muttered under his breath, counting off the fingers. He did this several times. Bilbo started sweating, wondering what he would do if Gollum got it wrong again.

“Tenses! Tenses!” Gollum cheered.

“Yes, that’s right! Ten.” Bilbo laughed with them, feeling like he just taught a toddler their first word. “Your turn then.”

“Yes, yes, hmm.” Gollum opened their mouth and, once again, gravely declaim, “Voiceless, it cries. Wingless, flutters. Toothless, bites. Mouthless, mutters.”

A proper paradoxical riddle! Amazing. Alright, this one, Bilbo needed to solve. He would think on the answer and say the wrong one.

He looked around. Something without a mouth and without wings . . . Rocks? Water? Soil? . . . The water in the pond rippled and made a melodious sound, not unlike one produced by harps. Ripple? Why was the water . . . ?

“Wind!” He blurted in surprise, ecstatic upon finding the answer by himself.

“Very clever, hobbitses,” Gollum hissed, bringing Bilbo down from his high.

Ah. The hobbit resisted the urge to facepalm. Why was he sabotaging his own suicide? Maybe it wasn’t the dwarrows who kept saving him after all but the Bilbo himself.

“Bagginses turn.” The creatures prompted, looking impatient.

“Hmm.” Bilbo tapped his lips. Obviously, maths was too advanced for Gollum. Something basic then . . . The hobbit knew just the thing. Surely, even Gollum could answer this. “What is your name?”

Gollum froze. “Name?”

“Yes,” Bilbo replied brightly. “You mentioned it earlier.”

Gollum paused, mouth moving soundlessly. Then, they started howling as if in pain. “That’s no fair. No fair!” Their eyes started getting teary-eyed.

“What?” Bilbo blinked in surprise. “But . . . it’s just your name.” Why was he having a bad feeling about this?

“We doesn’t remember nameses! Gollum, Gollum.”

“Is - Isn’t Gollum your name?” Bilbo asked weakly, already knowing the answer.

“No, precious, no! Nameses! What is our nameses!?”

“Oh, I see.” Of course. The hobbit bit his lip. “I could give you one?” he suggested.

“No! We wants our nameses!”

Well, there was no other way. Bilbo would have to guess. “Is it Brumble?”

Gollum sharply turned to him. His tantrum ceased. “No.”

“Drall?”

“No.”

“Halden?”

“No.”

“Rumple – ”

“No, no, no!” Gollum – the creature – wailed pitifully. They wept, whole body shaking. “What is it, preciousss?”

Bilbo scratched his head, not knowing where he went wrong. Losing was supposed to be easy. Maybe he should look for Thorin and Dwalin himself. After all, if the creature was going to eat them and the creature was staying here in the cavern, then the dwarrows must be nearby. Unconscious, most probably.

Then, the creature’s head snapped up, so quickly, in fact, that Bilbo heard something crack. “Sméagol! Yes, yessss! Sméagol!”

“Sméagol?” Bilbo blinked rapidly, the name tugging something in his memory.

“Our nameses.” Sméagol nodded vigorously. “We was Sméagol.”

“Sméagol, Sméagol.” Where had he heard that before?

Ah, in that horror story his father used to tell him when he was a faunt. It was actually more of an urban legend; Sméagol was one of the fisherman Stoors. He had murdered his relative over a jewelry and was promptly kicked out of the Shire. Bilbo had been frightened by it, especially when one of his playmates taunted that Sméagol still live; he could still come back and kill those who owned any kind of jewelry. Bilbo had refused to wear any kind of accessory for a while after that.

Bilbo glanced at the creature in front of him, from the leaf-shaped ears and big but hairless feet. Could it be . . .? No, how ridiculous. This Sméagol had little resemblance to hobbits.

“Our turn, our turn!” Sméagol’s voice was loud and shrill. They opened their mouth to utter another riddle.

Half-a-second later, they were on the floor, head bleeding and unconscious.

Bilbo almost jumped out of his skin at the sudden happenstance. Then, he lifted his eyes and lock gazes with a surly Dwalin. Blood painted one side of the dwarf’s face. He wiped away some that were getting to his eyes, dropping the rock he used to incapacitate Sméagol. He wore a strange expression, eyes never leaving the hobbit.

“Mister Dwalin!” Bilbo exclaimed, bouncing to his feet and wrapping the dwarf in a hug, damning propriety.

He had thought the dwarf dead for a moment and he was glad for the assurance the embrace was giving him. Dwalin grunted, patting the hobbit at the small of his back.

Bilbo pulled back, beaming. “I’m glad you’re alright. Well, not completely alright but you’re standing at the very least!”

“Aye. This thing,” Dwalin gestured at Sméagol, looking utterly repulsed. “Almost got me. And it seems it almost got Thorin too. Where’s Bofur?”

“Um, he searched a different pathway.”

Dwalin cocked a disbelieving brow. “And left ye alone in yer lonesome to search this path?”

Bilbo ducked his head. “He might have told me to stay in a safe place.” He gave a sheepish smile. Dwalin shook his head like Bilbo was a particularly incorrigible faunt. “But enough about that. Where’s Thorin? You said . . .”

“Back there,” Dwalin pointed a thumb at the other end of the pond. “Still out like a light, mind. Tha’s why we need Bofur. I can’t carry him by myself.” Bilbo could see his point. Dwalin was slightly swaying, probably because of the head wound.

Bilbo frowned. “Why can’t I do it?”

Dwalin gave him a look.

Bilbo squawked indignantly, reading that look. “Bofur’s got an injured arm. He couldn’t possibly do it. Now, Mister Dwalin, hobbits may be different but we are no weaker than dwarrows.”

“Ye’ve got a fever, is what I’m sayin’” Dwalin placed a hand at the back of the hobbit’s forehead to check.

Bilbo swatted it away. “It’s abating. I’m well enough, thank you very much.” He bent down to pick up Orcrist.

He tugged at Dwalin’s cloak. “Come on then. We still need to find Bofur after.”

Dwalin stared at him in exasperation for a few moments before giving in. “A’right. Let me just . . .” Dwalin plucked Orcrist from Bilbo’s grasp and lifted it up, blade pointed down.

The hobbit realized his intentions mere seconds after. He grabbed Dwalin’s wrist, horrified. “What are you doing?”

The dwarf’s brows rose. “It might wake up.”

Bilbo glanced at the pathetic sight that was Sméagol. He suddenly envisioned stabbing the creature through for causing them such grief. He blinked, wondering where the unexpected image came from . . . No, no, all he felt for the creature was pity now that they weren’t holding his friends hostage.

“And your solution is to permanently put them to sleep?” Bilbo hissed, shaking his head in disapproval. “They’re unconscious now and we’ll be out before they wake up. Let’s just leave them be.”

Dwalin frowned, clearly thinking that was not the best course of action. He saw the stubborn set of Master Baggins’ shoulders, however, and knew it would be a waste of time to argue. The hobbit was too naïve. But . . . maybe it was Dwalin who was just too desensitized to death. The hobbit was right; this creature’s death was needless.

The dwarf sighed and nodded. “Aye. Let’s go.”

The hobbit’s smile brightened his flushed face. The dwarf and the hobbit then marched towards their passed out companion, sparing Sméagol’s life.

(Later, Bilbo would realize he had forgotten to feel disappointed or frustrated at another botched suicide attempt. He would tell himself it was because of the relief of finding the dwarrows alive and in one piece. It was also probably because he was getting used to it.

Plus, there was always a next time.)

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Wohoo, one of my longest chapters yet! Haha, you guys don’t know how much I enjoyed writing this.
> 
> What happened to Bofur? What about the ring? We’ll find out soon!
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcome! Kindly point out any glaring errors. Help me improve my writing, guys!
> 
> Have a Gollum-free day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	39. (Suicidal) Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Short little tidbit: when this story reached 600 follows in ff.net, my first thought was I could do it, I could have the devil's number! And I freaking did, omg. I screenshot it when it reached 666. It made me so happy for some reason ^_^
> 
> Thanks for all the (wonderful!) comments. I know I mostly respond to ones who asked me questions. That's because I don't know what to say other than a generic 'thank you so much' and I'm so embarrassed XD. Rest assured that each comment has me blushing and I reread them when I need inspiration. You're all so kind ;_;. Thanks for all the (500!) favorites, follows (over 666 mwahaha), (almost 550!) bookmarks and (over 2500!) kudos! I really appreciate them all so much ^_^
> 
> I hope you enjoy ~

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Master Baggins stared at Dwalin as they walked, a thoughtful frown upon his face. Dwalin sent him an inquiring look but decided to let the burglar speak if he had something to say.

The hobbit's gaze flicked down to the ground. Then, up to Dwalin's face once more. After a moment's contemplation, Master Baggins deftly unsheathed his letter opener, much to the dwarf's surprise.

Dwalin inhaled sharply when the burglar lined the sharp end of the blade above his own stomach.

Without preamble, Dwalin's hand shot up and engulfed the hobbit's wrist in a tight grip.

Master Baggins jolted, eyes going wide. Both halted in their walk.

"What are ye doing?" Dwalin demanded, voice coming out gruffly due to his alarm. He mused morbidly how similar his words and tone was to the hobbit's just earlier.

Master Baggins gave the dwarf a pitying glance, indicating that the answer should be obvious. The burglar pointed at the dwarf's head with his uncaged hand. "We need to wrap your wound or it'll keep bleeding," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. He glanced down and gestured. "I've given my handkerchief to Bofur. I didn't want to tear out Gloin's cloak because he lent it to me and I'd rather not damage Thorin's majestic fur coat lest he used my skin as replacement." Master Baggins ran his fingers over the material of his shirt. "So my tunic it is."

Dwalin searched the hobbit's face, searching for any kind of lie. When he found none, his shoulders sagged in relief. He had thought . . . The dwarf scrubbed his face, probably spreading more blood to his cheeks. He released a small sigh.

Master Baggins tilted his head to the side, blinking up at the dwarf in confusion. He blamed the head wound for Dwalin's strange behavior.

"Don't go pointin' that sword near yerself while moving," Dwalin warned, using Orcrist to quickly cut a large strip of his own sleeve. He hoped the hobbit would stop fussing. Master Baggins' whiny "We could have used mine!" fell on deaf ears. "You would've impaled yerself." Dwalin wished the burglar didn't intend _that_ as a secondary consequence.

The hobbit huffed and plucked the ripped cloth from Dwalin's hand. Or attempted to, anyways. Dwalin lifted it beyond his reach before his fingers could come near. "Let's worry about me after we find our esteemed leader, aye?" Without even waiting for a reply, the dwarf strode off.

He would have passed off as confident and strong had it not been for the stagger in and unevenness of his steps.

Bilbo conceded with no small amount of hesitation and hurried to catch up to the dwarf. He made sure to stay near just in case Dwalin trip and fall over.

When they eventually arrived at the other end of the pond, it became apparent that Bilbo lost the opportunity to prove his strength.

Thorin was sitting up, deftly wrapping his head with a cloth. Judging by the uneven edges of the bottom of his shirt, he probably tore it from his tunic. He straightened in alarm, hearing Dwalin's and Bilbo's footfalls. But upon recognizing them, he relaxed minutely.

"Bofur?" Thorin inquired, hiding a wince when the makeshift bandage dug into his wounds. He pulled it tight and tied it in a double knot.

Dwalin kneeled down beside the dwarf king, inspecting the other dwarf's eyes. "'e and Master Baggins split up to cover more ground." Well, not exactly but Bilbo was glad the warrior dwarf wasn't making a commotion about it now. "As ye can see, t'was the hobbit that found us."

The hobbit sat beside the dwarrows, snatching the torn cloth from under Dwalin's hand. He started working on Dwalin's own injury, swaddling the area above his ears.

"I don't think you should be the one checking me for concussions," Thorin deadpanned, glancing meaningfully at his friend's head.

Dwalin huffed in dismissal. "This is nothing." Just then, Bilbo ministrations caused the bandage to press right where the skin was most tender. "Ow! Son of a -"

"I apologize." The hobbit finished tying the bandage with a flourish. "This 'nothing' wouldn't stop bleeding otherwise." Dwalin gave him a half-hearted glare. Bilbo responded with a guileless smile. "You were just about ready to collapse on our way here. Stubbornness will get us nowhere, Mister Dwalin." Bilbo peered at Dwalin's eyes. "It's too dark see if you have a concussion yourself. Do tell us if you're feeling dizzy or nauseous. Preferably several minutes before you faint."

A glimmer of amusement passed through Thorin's features and he barely suppressed a snicker. It was clear that Bilbo's fussiness perturbed Dwalin. "Listen to the hobbit, my friend."

The dwarf king regretted opening his big mouth because said hobbit's attention then turned to him. "And you. Let's see if you've done it properly."

Bilbo scooted closer, hands reaching out to Thorin's head. The dwarf king saw Dwalin smirk at the corner of his eye. He made certain to give a rude gesture to his best friend before intercepting the well-intentioned fingers aiming for his wound.

"I've seen my share of battles, Bilbo. I do know how to bandage a simple head wound."

"Oh." The hobbit still glanced at the wrapping with narrow eyes. Thankfully, he seemed satisfied with what he saw. "Alright."

Dwalin seemed indignant. "I get the full scoldin' while this arse here gets an 'Oh, alright'?"

"There's no need to be redundant," Bilbo reasoned. "Thorin will tell us if he's feeling the symptoms of a concussion, right?" The grin that the hobbit showed entailed grave consequences if the answer to that was anything but affirmative.

Thorin swallowed. "Of course."

Dwalin had a sudden coughing fit and Thorin shot him a glare, which the hobbit thought unfair. The involuntary action wasn't the dwarf's fault! Bilbo was reminded that there had been a tickle at the back of the his throat for a while now. He refused to give in and cough. He didn't want the dwarrows to think he was still too weak to be of any use.

"And you?" Bilbo glanced up, realizing Thorin was referring to him. "You will inform us if . . . if you're feeling unwell? More unwell than before."

"Deal," the hobbit replied easily. He nodded and then climbed to his feet. "Come on then. I'm a bit worried about Bofur."

He helped both dwarrows get their feet under them. Dwalin handed Orcrist to the dwarf king and Bilbo offered his own to the weaponless dwarf.

Dwalin shook his head. "It'll be more use to ye, Master Baggins."

Bilbo eventually conceded that the sword was too small for someone of Dwalin's stature.

They headed to the entrance of the chambers, slowly and carefully. Bilbo had his eyes on the dwarrows the whole time; he watched for any hint of negative change so he could support them when need be. It was a tiring endeavor since both were determined to appear hale.

 _Dwarrows_ , Bilbo thought with exasperation.

Thorin paused, blinking down at the pale white skeletal creature bleeding on the ground near the entrance.

"Oh, that's Smeagol. The creature that defeated you both," Bilbo elaborated, looking down sympathetically at the downed creature.

Thorin and Dwalin bristled at that but couldn't refute the remark for it was true.

Then, "You know its name?" Thorin didn't think he put enough incredulousness in his tone.

Bilbo shrugged, his weight shifting from one foot to another and eyes darting to the side. "W-We talked. I'll tell you about it after we find Bofur." _And after I invent a believable enough story._

Thorin sent Dwalin an inquiring look, knowing Dwalin had been awake longer than he and the other dwarf might clue him in. He was surprised to find his friend looking quite somber. Dwalin shook his head and quickly signed that the dwarf king will get the full story later.

Thorin frowned. It seemed he had a lot of catching up to do.

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Bofur had a white-knuckled grip on his mattock, body walking forward but mind left in the crevice where a certain hobbit sat.

Bilbo Baggins had never been a good liar but he was a silver-tongued creature indeed. Bofur had never been the sharpest dwarf but this he knew. The fact that the hobbit hesitated on making a simple promise such as keeping himself safe - promised something without promising anything at all - irked Bofur to the core.

All of Bilbo's actions seemed to be further proving the dwarrows' earlier assumptions. In this one thing, Bofur had sincerely hoped he was wrong. There was still a chance that he was just seeing things that weren't there, that he was just overthinking things . . . But better overreact than be complacent, Bofur grimly said to himself.

He loathed to leave the hobbit alone for just one minute. However, Bofur knew both of them would stew in guilt if Thorin and Dwalin had come to harm because of his stubbornness.

He hurried along the pathways, ears open for any kind of sound and eyes sharp on his surroundings. A soft light had permeated the walls of the cave though Bofur knew not where it came from. Bofur suspected it was the light of dawn, going by the surreal quality of it. It was enough for the miner's eyes to see around clearly.

Where in Mahal's balls had Thorin gone? Bofur had been walking on his own for several minutes now and had detected not the slightest movement nor the softest murmur.

As if on cue, the sound of several footsteps reverberated across the cave. Bofur's head snapped up. Goblins! And a swarm of them, going by the number of footfalls. They were hurrying in his direction, weapons and armor clattering cacophonously.

The miner needed to hide. With his injury and numbering only one, he would be quickly overwhelmed. Bofur sought a hiding place, backing away from the path ahead. After a few vital moments, the miner found no nearby place he could retreat to.

It's too late, his mind shouted, heartbeat speeding up in panic. The goblins were already rounding the corner. One more second and they will see Bofur and Bilbo would be left alone in the dark and Thorin and Dwalin would never be found -

The miner lifted his mattock, preparing to fight his way through the horde as the creatures came in sight.

The other side halted in terror, their weapons lifting up in instinct.

It took a while for both sides to process what they were seeing.

"Bofur?" Gandalf's inquiry broke the astonished silence. The wizard had not yet a chance to do a headcount and thus, had not noticed that a dwarf had been separated.

"Bofur!" Bombur pushed his way through and closed the space between him and his miraculously alive brother. Tears pooled at the corner of his eyes as he threw himself at Bofur. "Thank the Maker, thank the Maker! You're alive!"

"Ow!" Bofur yowled as Bombur almost tackled him with his hug. "Get off, you big lug. 'm injured!"

Bombur pulled back, gasping. "Where? Is it fatal?"

"No," Bofur replied with a sigh and dragged his brother in a one-armed embrace. He knew the oaf was nearly hyperventilating with relief.

The shock the dwarrows initially experienced slowly faded away. Their voices overlapped as they shouted at the same time.

"Mahal - how -" Bifur stared at Bofur like he had seen a ghost. But like Bombur, he came forward and looked to be about to sweep both dwarrows in a tight embrace. Thankfully, he settled on pressing their foreheads together.

"You're alive!"

"Up in the mountain, we saw you -"

"Thorin?" Balin came forward. "Dwalin and Bilbo?" He looked as if he was preparing himself for the worse.

"Alive too." Or Bofur hoped so, at least. The rest approached him and slapped him on his back and shoulders, relief evident in their features. "Good to see I've been missed!" Bofur teased.

"Where -"

"Perhaps Bofur could explain on the way?" Gandalf cleared his throat. "We do have some company on our heels."

Everyone, sans Bofur, paled at the reminder. They started running towards the same path Bofur had traced.

"Wait!" the miner protested, dreadful. "Thorin and Dwalin! They were taken by goblins. And they went this way!"

"What!?"

"We need to go back!"

"Uncle needs help!"

Gandalf hissed sharply. The Company cannot continue without their leader but to go back and fight the horde of goblins would be foolish. They needed a plan and quick. Perhaps if some of the dwarrows -

"Bofur!" A certain hobbit's voice echoed above their shouts.

One by one, they fell quiet.

"Shh! Do ye want the goblins to hear ye -"

"But my sword! It's glowing and Bofur, Bofur's this way. We need to hurry or - or -"

"Breathe, Burglar. Bofur can handle himself."

"Those are . . ." Fili trailed off, daring to believe it.

Not long after, three figures came into sight. They tensed upon seeing the large group. Realization dawned on them a moment later.

"Bofur!" Bilbo exclaimed, grinning ear-to-ear. "And everyone! You're all -"

Bofur gaped at the three of them. "How - Where did you . . .?"

"They were just around the corner, apparently," was Bilbo's unsatisfactory explanation. Before Bofur could ask for more details, he was interrupted by the roar of the rest of the Company.

The Company dashed towards the members they thought dead minutes prior, laughters and tears flowing freely.

"Bilbo, Uncle, Dwalin!" Kili seemed unable to decide who to embrace first. In the end, he engulfed all three of them in an enthusiastic hug. Fili joined in less than a second later. "We're so glad - We thought you were - On the cliffs . . ." Kili and Fili started shaking with sobs.

Thorin and Dwalin stifled their grunts of pain, allowing the younger dwarrows some comfort. Bilbo felt as if a stone settled itself heavily in his stomach. He had caused this, let them experienced grief and sorrow because he had dragged the other dwarrows with him during his fall . . .

When the princes finally let go, the rest of the Company swarmed them, asking questions and expressing their mirth.

Ori monopolized Bilbo, pulling him in another hug and blubbering into his coat. Dori and Nori fussed in the background, with Nori being less obvious in his concern. The hobbit sent them a reassuring glances while rubbing comforting circles upon Ori's back.

Balin pressed his forehead gently with his brother, taking care not to aggravate his wound. Dwalin chuckled and, showing off his stupid pride, loudly knocked foreheads with him. Balin shot him a disapproving look at that.

Oin inspected Bofur's wound first, doing what he can in the meager light provided. Bombur and Bifur demanded to know what incurred during their brief separation and Bofur happily narrated with a few embellishments here and there.

Kili and Fili remained by their uncle's side, although they didn't go far from the hobbit's either. Gloin and the princes started giving the dwarf king a brief overview of what happened with the Goblin King and how they came to be captured. Thorin listened carefully, glad that the whole Company got out of that fearsome endeavor relatively unscathed.

Gandalf gave them a few moments more before firmly thumping his staff on the ground. "I believe this reunion has to be moved elsewhere. Or has everyone forgotten that Bilbo's sword is still glowing?"

At that, everyone's gaze zeroed in on the blue glow of the hobbit's letter opener. As if on cue, the roars of the goblin horde behind them grew louder.

Quicker than anyone would think possible, the whole Company surged forward. Both Fili and Kili supported their uncle, placing themselves under his arms, while Balin and Dori did the same with Dwalin. As much as the dwarf king and warrior dwarf wanted to protest, they knew that they would only slow the Company down if they refuse help.

"Mister Gloin, if ye may?" Bofur gestured meaningfully at Bilbo. Said hobbit blinked bewilderedly at the dwarrows. "I believe he still has a fever."

"Aye!" The red-haired dwarf grabbed Bilbo's still glowing sword and smoothly placed it in its sheathe around the hobbit's waist.

Ah, yes, probably not a good idea to carry something that will catch the goblins' attention -

Gloin picked the hobbit up and threw him over his broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "What in the name - Put me down, Gloin!"

 _And now we're back to the hobbithandling! Bilbo fumed_. He pounded Gloin's back with one hand while the other held on to his waistcoat pocket, making sure nothing fell off.

They all ran towards the exit with Gandalf leading them and Bilbo protesting loudly about his treatment. Eventually, they reached the mouth of the cave where the three dwarrows and one hobbit rested.

"My axes, get Grasper and Keeper!"

"The packs!"

"I can run on my own now, Gloin!"

Some from the Company grabbed the said items, securing them in their persons before continuing on. One by one, thirteen dwarrows, one hobbit and one wizard came out in the open, the light of dawn licking their skin. They didn't stop running until they were a good distance away from the caves, from Goblin Town, and from the mountains themselves.

Their previously rocky surroundings were replaced by the lush green of trees and grass. The moist sweet fragrance of flowers replaced the damp musty smell of the tainted mountains. Light spilled softly through the gaps of the leaves, bathing the Company in a surreal light.

And thus, at last, the Company of Thorin Oakenshield escaped the Misty Mountains.

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"No, no, no! Preciousssssss. Where are you, my preciousss? Thief, thief, thief! Bagginssssss! We hates it, we hates it, we hates it forever!"

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Yay, reunion, finally!
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcome! Kindly point out any glaring errors. Help me improve my writing, guys!
> 
> Have a nerdy day!  
> ~ Vividpast


	40. (Suicidal) Success

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Who thought I’ve given up on this story??? *raises both hands*
> 
> I never thought I would actually reach this point in the story. I mean, I’ve already planned certain scenes but I never actually thought I’ll reach them! 40 chapters, about 100 000 words. *sobs* 
> 
> Anyway, I really thank you for all the encouragement you’ve given me! All the kudos, bookmarks, follows, favorites, and comments! I don’t deserve you guys :’)
> 
> Enjoy (I hope) ~

❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤

The Company finally stopped at a clearing quite far from the Misty Mountains, each dwarf panting and huffing in exhaustion. Some, like Bombur and Ori, dramatically collapsed on the ground, tired beyond comprehension. Others attempted to stay on their feet but eventually buckled down on their knees. Bilbo was finally placed down on his reliable feet as Gloin joined the others in face-planting on the grass. Gandalf did a headcount and was relieved to find that yes, thirteen dwarrows and one hobbit was accounted for.

Then, Fili started laughing hysterically, whole body practically flying apart from the shakes. Kili stared at him with no small amount of concern, wondering if his brother had finally snapped.

“I can’t . . . hahaha . . . I can’t believe . . . We’re all alive.” Fili grabbed Kili by the shoulders and started shaking him like a doll. “Alive, Kee! Uncle and the others fell off a cliff and we find them practically unharmed a few hours later! We were surrounded by thousands – thousands! – of goblins and not one of us was killed off in the skirmish!” Fili wiped away the mirthful tears escaping his eyes and Kili’s brain finally ceased bouncing around his skull.

Bilbo dropped down beside Kili, nonplussed and concerned eyes on the guffawing blonde dwarf. The hobbit sent an inquiring glance to the younger Durin, to which Kili replied with a frown.

The hobbit contemplated for a moment. He exchanged meaningful glances with Kili, whose face expressed something like grief. Then, both reached for each of Fili’s shoulders and abruptly engulfed the dwarf into a three-way embrace.

The sudden action took the air out of Fili’s lungs, and his laughter finally ceased. Or rather, his shaking transformed to denote something else.

“Everything’s fine, Fili,” Bilbo murmured softly, feeling a wet patch developing in the collar of his cloak. Still, Fili released not a sound. The hobbit rubbed circles upon the dwarf’s trembling back, heart aching once more. “Everyone’s fine.”

“It’s alright, Fee.” Kili started running a hand along his brother’s hair and braids, voice cracking midway. “We survived. We’re here.”

A shadow befell the three of them before another dwarf sat down and joined their circle. Fili roughly pulled away from the hug, furiously scrubbing his face. Bilbo glanced at the newcomer and realized why.

“Fili.” Thorin’s voice was rough, a tinge of melancholia coloring his tone. His expression was undecipherable but his eyes gleamed with an emotion Bilbo was familiar with.

The hobbit scooted away so the dwarf could take his spot, could get closer to his distressed nephew.

“I’m fine, Uncle,” Fili tried and failed to reassure. He released a wet chuckle and even managed a small smile. “It’s nothing. Just being foolish.”

Kili opened his mouth, about to vehemently protest, no doubt. Fortunately, Thorin spoke first. “I do not know why you are ashamed, _irakdashat_.” The dwarf king forced Fili to meet his eyes as he said, “You’ve been very brave. Both of you.”

Kili made a sound of something akin to a sniffle. Thorin drew both princes closer, their heads meeting. The dwarf king started murmuring in that secret language of theirs, tone oddly soothing. “ _Ikrêz, irakdashshat._ _'Amad-zun . . ._ ”

Bilbo took that as his cue; he subtly got up and walked away from the private moment. He kept his eyes on them though, unable to take his eyes upon the somber yet sweet moment between the dwarrows. So it came as no surprised when he bumped into someone.

The hobbit spun around. “Gandalf!” Bilbo beamed. “I thought you’d never catch up to us!”

“Bilbo Baggins,” the wizard greeted, delight obvious in the crinkle of his eyes. Then, Gandalf’s features dimmed as he looked at the hobbit from head to toe. “You seem to have lost an awful lot of weight, my boy.”

“What?” Bilbo gazed down to himself. Certainly, his tunic was a bit loose on his midsection, and his trousers needed tightening. But he must have lost only a couple of pounds. “It must be the cloaks, Gandalf.” With the dwarrows bigger stature, the coats they had lent him was far too big; Bilbo felt like a fauntling wearing his father’s clothes.

“The wizard is right.” Bilbo startled as Dori popped out of nowhere with a fierce frown. “You’ve lost a lot of padding, Bilbo. I don’t know why we never noticed!”

A finger poked his chest and Bilbo yelped. Nori grinned, slinging an arm around the hobbit’s shoulders. “Aye. I can count your ribs now.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes at the exaggeration. Judging by Dori’s calculating and worried expression, he didn’t take it as such.

“It’s a jest, Dori,” he hurriedly assured before Dori could start on his plans of fattening up the hobbit. The dwarf could be such a fussy mother-hen. To get the attention off of him, Bilbo innocently remarked, “In fact, I think a lot of us has lost a significant amount of weight. Especially Nori. He keeps giving up his food for Ori.”

“ _What?_ ” Dori glared at the star-haired dwarf.

“What!?” Ori, who had been walking up to them to see what they were talking about, caught the last statement. “You told me they were leftovers!” Ori looked quite betrayed and angry at the revelation.

“You will regret this, Bilbo Baggins,” Nori hissed in the hobbit’s ear. Bilbo gave him a wide unremorseful grin.

The thief backed away from his advancing brothers. “It’s only been for the past couple of weeks, alright. Don’t get your underthings in a twist.”

“ _Past weeks!”_ Dori reached out to twist his brother’s ears.

Nori successfully evaded away from attack. He then thought it wise to start running.

“Get back here, Nori!” Ori shouted, giving pursuit.

“Come here and receive the scolding you deserve!” Dori added.

Bilbo snickered as the brothers bickered and chased each other around the clearing. He had been planning to tell Dori about it anyway; the amount Nori ate couldn’t be healthy, especially since he expelled so much energy training the hobbit.

“You’re fitting in rather well,” Gandalf observed, smiling.

For some reason, the words made him blush. “Yes, well, it would seem so.”

“Which would make the matter I wish to speak about all the more important,” the wizard followed, and there was something in his tone that made Bilbo tense.

“What matter?” the hobbit asked with evident trepidation.

Instead of answering, Gandalf gestured at a large boulder in the corner of the clearing. Without waiting for a reply, the wizard walked towards it and sat down. Bilbo followed after him, shooting him wary looks. Nonetheless, he seated himself beside the wizard.

As soon as the hobbit settled, Gandalf continued, “There is the matter of Faded and of you, dear Bilbo, being one.”

Bilbo froze, staring at Gandalf with wide eyes. There was steel in the wizard’s countenance but his eyes belied a sadness that the hobbit had never wanted to see directed at him.

Bilbo glanced around quickly. Bofur was laughing at a panting Bombur while Oin tended to the former dwarf’s injury. Bifur slapped Bofur over the head, and looked to be telling him off. Gloin was conferring with Dwalin, checking over the latter’s axes. Nori had yet to be caught by his brothers and was leading them in a merry chase. Thorin was still comforting in his nephews, and no one seemed prepared to disturb them any time soon.

No one was paying attention but it was a small mercy. He forced his gaze down, a burning feeling starting in his chest. He found himself having a hard time breathing.

His mind worked hard, swiftly giving him something to say. “I-I don’t know what Lord Elrond told you but I assure you, Gandalf, that it’s not as bad as he made it seem.”

Gandalf hummed. “I suppose he would have told me otherwise, had he been the one to enlighten me of your condition.”

The hobbit stiffened, realizing what he had inadvertently revealed. He had just confirmed that there was something to know, and that this Fading matter was not a light one. He glared at Gandalf, knowing he had been manipulated. At the same time, however, the wizard had, in turn, shown his hand. If Gandalf had not spoken with Lord Elrond, then, he was still oblivious about Bilbo’s main motives in the quest.

Bilbo plastered on a wan smile. “I’ve been living alone in my smial for years, and my relatives rarely visit. I suppose some Fading is to be expected, Gandalf. But it’s nothing serious, nothing a little bit company couldn’t solve.” He pointedly glance at the dwarrows roughhousing and resting around.

The wizard was clearly unconvinced, and was about to make this known.

The warg howls saved Bilbo from the unwanted conversation.

(Balin, who had been passing water, came out from behind one of the trees – located a few feet away from where the hobbit and wizard sat. His face was pinched in a tight frown as he scurried towards the rest of the Company)

Heads snapped up and alarm. All bolted to their feet, respective weapons out. The earth shook, teeth-snapping growls filled the air. One thought crossed their minds; the orc pack was almost upon them.

“Out of the frying pan, and into the fire,” Gandalf muttered. “Run!”

The Company didn’t need to be told twice. They gathered their bearings and started sprinting away from the threatening sounds. The uninjured dwarrows once again came to be the support of the wounded ones.

(Dwalin roughly grabbed ahold of Nori, the closest to him, and muttered close to the thief’s ears, “ _Biraithhir id-zantulbasn. Itridruk hû._ ” Nori was taken aback by the excessive concern in Dwalin’s order. He thought the other dwarf only took such action when it came to his brother and the dwarrows in the line of Durin. But Nori said none of this and merely complied.)

Bilbo glanced behind them, and between the trees. He saw the blur of the animals that will tear them apart. He recalled his conversation with Gandalf, and perhaps, now, more than ever, would be the right time. Didn’t he say the day before that he would tarry no longer? The whole surviving the fall, befriending the dwarf king, and saving his dwarrows had delayed him (and even made him entertain the idea of living!). Well, he was prepared to go and attempt to chase his death once more. Though if he failed yet again, he wouldn’t be surprised.

Before he could take a step, however, someone roughly yanked his arm. “Stop dawdlin’, Master Baggins!” Nori said with grin, grip tight around the hobbit’s bicep. The dwarf forced Bilbo to amble along with him, practically manhandling him over the rocky terrain. “Time to start runnin’!”

Yes, well, of course. One mustn’t forget the dwarrows that insisted on saving him. Bilbo sighed, and jogged as fast as his companions, no longer dragging his feet. Their attempts to save him might endanger their lives.

The thick foliage hindered their escape, trees and bushes scraping their skin. The hobbit sincerely doubted the chances of their survival. Without Radagast to distract the pack and give the Company a head-start, the howls quickly grew closer.

Too close, in fact.

Nori loosened his hold on the hobbit, producing a dagger, one of the very few that the goblins had missed. He spun around, and, without stopping, threw it at the head of the warg snapping at their heels. The blade hit the animal at the soft spot at the side of its neck, and blood spurted from the wound. It crashed to the ground with a whine, and there it stayed unmoving.

Nori took out another blade as two more wargs replaced the fallen one.

Bilbo had his head turned behind as he ran, watching Nori with amazement. He had never actually seen the dwarf in action! Thinking about it, where had Bilbo placed the daggers Nori had gifted him? Perhaps he could help the others in slowing down their hunters . . . The hobbit felt around his waistband, and searched inside his pockets. No, no, no, he remembered now. He tucked it on the side of his pack, thinking that he might lose it if he carried it around his body. Currently, Bifur had the pack with him.

But he did fish something out of one of his pockets.  He slipped his fingers in and they came out with a golden ring.

Ah. Odd that he kept unconsciously taking it with him. He never noticed doing so.

And neither did he notice the tree that he rammed into moments later.

Pain exploded on his torso and face as bark bit his skin, and he groaned. Dear Eru, he felt like a foolish fauntling, running into trees of all things! The great impact – because Bilbo had not slowed down at all – pushed him backwards, and he started falling with nothing to keep his balance.

The ring in his hand flew in the air, his grasp becoming slack because of astonishment. Bilbo landed on his back, air escaping his lungs in a _whoosh_ and head hitting some fallen branch. Above him, the ring glinted in the sunlight as if winking at him. The hobbit, who had no interest with such kind of jewelry before, was inexplicably entranced. Some force encouraged him to stretch out his arm and catch it. If he didn’t get it now, he felt that he would lose it when it falls on the dirt.

He failed to grasp it his palm because, out of all the impossible things, the ring glided through his middle finger. As soon as the ring settled on the bottom of the digit, Bilbo’s whole world turned gray and fuzzy around the edges. Nausea built up in his stomach, and a heavy feeling pulled at his chest.

The contours of the trees became unidentifiable, branches leaving shadows of themselves as they moved. The sky, which had bled the orange of dawn, now painted a somber picture with its greying hues.

Had his mind broken during his collision? Had his vision been impaired?

“Bilbo!” a distant voice echoed. Bilbo imagined it was how Nori would sound like, should he ever be possessed by wraiths.

Then, he remembered they were being pursued by wargs and orcs, and he had no time to be dazed. The hobbit sat up, disoriented at the new greyish perspective. Everything around him had turned surreal and dreamlike.

The look of panic on Nori’s and the nearby dwarrows’ face, however, was as real as it could be. They had halted their escape, heads whipping around and clearly searching for something. Gloin decapitated one incoming warg and Ori squashed another’s head with a hammer. But not one of them made an effort to retreat.

Bilbo put aside the issue of his vision and focused more on the drastic situation.

“Run, you foolish dwarrows!” was the only thing Bilbo could think of shouting. Whatever they had lost, it wasn’t worth their lives. The hobbit himself got to his feet and went to rejoin his companions.

They breathed sighs of relief, and some continued running with nary a glance at the hobbit. Nori kept up the rear, eyes darting everywhere in the forest.

“Where are you, Master Baggins?” the dwarf asked, raised voice garbling.

Bilbo frowned in befuddlement, a few feet in front of the thief. “Ahead of you, Nori,” he answered, deciding to humor the dwarf.

Nori’s eyes snapped ahead, sweeping over the other dwarrows dashing ahead.

Bilbo was even more confused when the dwarf’s gaze passed him by. It was strange; Nori’s eyes didn’t focus at him at all! Perhaps his strange new vision is making him imagine things.

However, Nori quickened his pace and easily overtook the hobbit. He was evidently still searching for Bilbo, with the way he kept looking around. A notion niggled at the back of the hobbit’s mind, one that he couldn’t quite believe was true.

Bilbo ran until he was beside the thief. He lifted his hand and waved in front of the dwarf’s face. Nori didn’t blink nor give any indication that there was something obstructing his vision.

Nori couldn’t see him.

So taken aback by this realization, Bilbo stopped. How . . . ? Or maybe it was just Nori –

A warg’s fur brushed against Bilbo as the animal chased after the dwarrows, lips curled to show sharp teeth. The hobbit jumped in surprise. The warg paused, snout raised sniffing the air. A few seconds later, it started tailing the dwarrows once more. Two more wargs breezed through, not even glancing at him, let alone attempt to tear him to bits. Orcs followed after, riding on top of the beasts. A scarred pale orc astride a white warg snarled in Black Speech . . . Its left arm was amputated from elbow down, replaced by a three thin metallic claws.

 _Good for him_ , Bilbo thought. _Not letting his disability hinder his spirit_. Then, he recalled that these were their enemies and he really shouldn’t be admiring them.

It was clear this orc didn’t see him either; Bilbo doubted orcs spewed out their plans with a hobbit around (or leave them alive for that matter), never mind that he understood none of what they were saying.

What was happening?

Farther and farther, dwarrows, wargs, and orcs alike got. Bilbo just stood there, frozen. No one would look at him, as if he is invisible, transparent, see-through –

“O-Oh.” Bilbo stumbled as epiphany hit him. His back met a tree and he slid down until he was cradled in its roots. He didn’t know why he didn’t think of it before.

The world suddenly turning a darker shade of itself, the voices he heard becoming distorted, and the fact that not one living being could see him . . . There had been many variations of the horror tales but they all ran along the same vein, the same notions.

Bilbo observed his hands, grey and pale as the rest of his world. Even the ring’s glittering beauty was dulled.

When did it happen? How? Was it when he collided with the tree and hit his head? Yes, yes, most likely. Everything was different after he got up. He didn’t remember feeling any great pain though; it was quick at least.

He gathered his knees to his chest, not knowing what to feel. He was numb with pure shock.

He was a ghoul, a ghost.

He, Bilbo Baggins, had finally met his death.

He had not failed this time.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**  
>  Khuzdul Translations (of some)! Thanks, Dwarrow Scholar!  
> Irakdashat - nephew  
> Biraithhir id-zantulbasn. Itridruk hû – Get the hobbit. Keep him in sight.
> 
> Who realized Balin wasn’t in the list before I revealed it? Ey, who? Always count thy dwarrows!
> 
> Next up: Bilbo coming to terms with being a ‘ghost’ and Azog is an asshole!
> 
> I’ll try to get up the next chapter on the 29th to practice the hobbit tradition of birthdays but no promises! ^_^
> 
> Please point out any glaring mistakes! Constructive criticisms are very much welcome!
> 
> I hope you eat your favorite food today!  
> ~ Vividpast


	41. (Suicidal) Anger and Projecting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** *Mushu voice* I li~ve! I can’t believe I made you wait almost six months! Dishonor on me, dishonor on my family, dishonor on my cow!  
>  So~ hello there, people still tuning in to this brainchild of mine. I am so very sorry. A few days after my upload of the last chapter, I actually finished 75% of this! Then, I reread what I wrote, then got disgusted and stopped HAHAHA. I never planned to continue but school and the continuous notifs I received from this fic inspired me to do so.  
> Thank you all for your continued support. ^_^ You guys are very amazing and I love y’all!!!  
> Two-year anniversary is coming up and I’VE FINALLY REACHED 100K. WHOOP!  
> Enjoy (I hope) ~

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The dwarrows discovered that what remained of their luck ended in the form of a cliff. They despaired, frantically looking for another way out.

“There’s nowhere to go!” Balin shouted before spearing a warg’s hide with his sword.

By now, at least five wargs laid dead at the Company’s feet. Yet more were coming and they were severely outnumbered.

“Up into the trees!” Gandalf directed, gesturing at the sky-high sturdy mountain trees. “All of you! Come on. Climb! Climb!”

The dwarrows were quick to comply. More nimble than any other race would have thought possible, they hauled themselves up unto the high branches. Kin helped kin in climbing, hands supporting and lifting each other.

“Where’s Bilbo?” Bofur hissed, struggling to ascend to a tree branch. It did his injured arm no favor but he would rather experience the pain than be eaten by the wargs below.

Bifur grabbed his coat and heaved him up. _“I heard him earlier. He’s around, not to worry.”_ Bombur made a sound of agreement, too focused on lifting his heavy body to speak. Both his cousin and brother dragged him up with no small amount of effort.

“No, he’s not.” Nori interjected, irritation and worry warring over his face. He wedged his foot into a hollow in the trunk of the tree, and kicked. The momentum pushed him far enough to reach the lowest branch. “I can’t find him anywhere!”

Bofur, Bifur and Bombur inhaled sharply. The miner glanced around, hoping to find a glimpse of the hobbit.

“They’re coming!” Thorin yelled in warning, encouraging the others to move swiftly.

“Where is he?” Bofur could make out the dwarrows on the trees nearby but none of them were accompanied by the lone hobbit.

The wargs growled below, lunging and clawing barks in an attempt to reach them. All of the dwarrows were safely out of reach but all knew the solution to their problem was temporary.

The beasts suddenly paused, jaws snapping shut. They looked behind themselves, fear touching their countenance. And Bofur understood their terror as the beasts backed away to give a wide berth for one pasty scar-ridden orc atop a snow-colored warg. It took less than a second for Bofur to make the connection, and another for Thorin to confirm with a disbelief-laden, “Azog”.

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Bilbo coughed, the remnants of his illness lingering in his lungs. He didn’t understand why his sickness had followed him to the afterlife. Wasn’t he supposed to be free of pain and sadness? Wasn’t he supposed to be reunited with his parents in Yavanna’s Gardens?

Yet aches still afflicted his being, and no beautiful garden was in sight. Coldness enveloped him. It wasn’t even the biting cold that winter brought; in fact, the icy feeling was more akin to drinking a frosty or minty beverage. It was under his skin, pooling at the bottom of his stomach, sliding sluggishly through his veins. No matter how many layers he now wore, the unpleasant feeling refused to abate.

The heavy pull in his chest hadn’t eased one bit either, and every breath was a chore.

Why did he even need to breathe? Bilbo was beginning to understand less of the world around him.

He felt utterly miserable. As miserable as a ghost would feel, that was. He had been cheated, been led on to think death would signify bliss.

Death, Bilbo found, was a lot similar to living.

A mournful sigh slipped past his lips. He had never considered lingering as a sprite after his demise. Though, he supposed as a ghost, he could still, in a way, see the quest through. Oh, the dwarrows! Did they get away from the orcs and wargs? He dearly hoped so. And they had Gandalf. The orcs were no dragons – they were no match for such a powerful wizard, surely. Plus, there were thirteen dwarrows, all trained since childhood to fight with a weapon of choice. Why, every morning, most of them would get up early and –

A shattering epiphany came to the hobbit. The Company – He would never again be able to interact with them.

He would never share laughs with mischievous Fili and Kili, never discuss culture and customs with little Ori, never exchange recipes with Bombur, never get another one of Bifur’s hugs, never be able confer during Balin’s storytelling, never discuss fashion with Dori, never train with Nori, never joke around with Bofur and Gloin . . . As Bilbo recounted the moments he shared with the Company, his eyes inexplicably started to sting.

Eru, hadn’t he gotten what he wanted? There was no need to be desolate. He had known these dwarrows for only a few months! He really shouldn’t be getting all sentimental about them. He hadn’t even known he had been capable of feeling such, apathetic was he for years before this adventure beckoned.

But, loathed as he was to admit it, he was going to terribly miss them all.

He sighed, trying to dredge up that same numbness that plagued him before. It was no use crying over withered plants, his father used to say. It was done; he was dead and the dwarrows were free of him. He wiped wetness from his eyes, creating poems and songs in his mind in an attempt to disassociate himself from the situation. It wasn’t quite working.

Cold metal kissed the skin around his eyes and he paused. He looked down on his hands and remembered that he still wore a golden ring on his finger. His brows furrowed, confusion settling in his mind. He could have sworn the ring’s circumference was much too small for him and thus, he had not tried it on earlier. Now, it fitted perfectly around his middle finger as if a jeweler had adjusted the size just for him.

He slid it off, desiring to observe it further.

The world righted itself before his very eyes.

Bilbo blinked. He craned his neck to look up at the orange skies, fluffy white clouds, and vibrant green leaves.

He put on the ring.

Grays and shadows bled in his vision, muting every item and sound.

He removed the ring.

The colors came back.

Bilbo blinked again. He glanced at the ring and then, at his surroundings.

Slowly, he came to his senses, shaking off the strange unreasonable anguish that had gripped him. He took note of the roughness of the tree trunk he was leaning on, of the grass underneath him damp with dew, of the warmth of sunlight, of the birds chirping random tunes.

It took a moment for the right realization to sink in.

When it did, laughter bubbled in his throat. It wasn’t long before Bilbo was giggling uncontrollably.

Yavanna, what a daft hobbit he had been! Ghost indeed! Such entities go through solid objects, and were definitely incapable of feeling pain. Bilbo had been solid and had experienced discomforts the whole time! That hit on the head had truly disoriented him more than he thought.

Not dead. He sighed in relief. Bilbo had not been misled then; genuine death would surely be something much promising than what he had experienced. He pointedly ignored the loneliness and misery that sparked in his being at the notion of being dead; as a matter of fact, he chose to attribute those emotions as leftover sentiments of the stressful night. When he experienced his _real_ death, he certainly would not be so weepy.

There was the issue of remaining invisible in Nori’s and the wargs’ sight though. If death had not claimed him, then why had he remained unseen? Bilbo glanced down at the ring sitting innocently at the center of his palm. He frowned, considering. The ring obviously caused his world to turn to gray. It was easy enough to deduce that it was the one who hid him from sight. It turned him invisible but not soundless. What a handy trinket . . . if one _wanted_ to live through a perilous quest, that was.

The distant screams of the dwarrows tore him out of his stupor. His head snapped up, gaze catching the tall trees toppling in the distance.

Before Bilbo could think further, he found himself bolting towards the source of the sounds.

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The Company was trapped, hanging over a single tree perched at the edge of the cliff.

Gandalf, bless his beard, had finally decided it was time for a miracle. He lit up pine cones with magic and threw it at the hides of the nearby wargs. Fire licked the dried-up grass and spread over the field. The wargs and orcs growled and backed away as fire surrounded the dwarrows’ last and treacherous sanctuary.

The Company got the hint and lobbed flaming pine cones at the beasts. Blisters bubbled in their palms but all ignored it in favor of chasing their enemies away.

But the fire worked to their disadvantage in the end. The thick roots holding their tree together burned away, weakening its grip upon the soil. The tree bended under their weights, a couple of roots the only thing preventing it from completely falling off the cliff. The dwarrows were hanging over the open air of the cliff, thin brittle branches their only lifeline. From fighting off the orcs, their worry was now preventing their deaths through an impressively long fall.

“Dori, Dori!” Ori cried out, holding tightly to his brother as he started slipping off. Dori, red in the face, took hold of Ori’s waist, helping the other dwarf get a good grasp of a branch.

While the Company was busy trying to hold on for dear life, their leader had another objective in mind. Thorin had found his footing and he strolled over stable ground. His blue eyes burned with fury unlike any other, sight narrowing to the monster that killed his grandfather and took away his father.

Thorin picked up a dried-up branch to use as a shield while his other hand unsheathed his elven sword.

Without much forethought, the leader of the Company charged, alone, towards the pack of orcs. He did not heed the cries of the other dwarrows.

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 _What in Yavanna green Garden!?_ Bilbo watched, from behind an unremarkable tree and behind the last of the orcs, as one Thorin Oakenshield ran towards the pale orc. He did not wait for the Company to gather themselves so that they could form an attack _together_. Furthermore, judging by the way he carelessly swung that sword, Thorin didn’t have much of a plan _alone_ either.

 _What’re you going to with that branch, eh, Thorin? Whack them one by one until they see sense? Eru, have you hit your head and gone utterly insane?_ The hobbit remembered that Thorin _had_ gotten quite a hit on the head just a while ago. He supposed some of the foolishness could be justified.

The white orc met Thorin halfway and the dwarf took a mace to the chest. He fell down unceremoniously, fire and smoke curling around his prone form. As if it wasn’t enough, the dwarf unsteadily rose to his feet and ran right into the open maws of the white warg. Bilbo retracted his statement. Some idiocy truly had no excuse. The hobbit blanched as the warg continued to use the dwarf king as a chew toy, sinking humongous fangs into the dwarf’s torso. Then, like a fauntling growing tired of a limp doll, the warg threw Thorin against a boulder without mercy. The dwarf couldn’t rise this time, his lethargic movements suggesting great injury. The pale orc, the leader of the pack it appeared, made a gesture to its subordinate. The nearest orc, one with an unhealthy grey pallor and thin short stands of straw for hair, broke away from the group. It approached the nearly unconscious dwarf, axe raced and a malicious grin stretching its face.

It suddenly sunk in to Bilbo that Thorin was _going to die_. The blasted dwarf king’s head would be severed from his shoulders by a bloodthirsty axe-wielding orc.

Bilbo could imagine it now. Fili and Kili would bawl often, greeting the morning with red-rimmed eyes. Dwalin and Balin would perhaps blame themselves, thinking they had failed their king. The Company would travel with their heads hung and shoulders hunched. They would be left without a leader, without their main source of motivation, without their main guide.

Another image rose in the hobbit’s mind, a memory of a scene not long ago. Thorin had held out his hand in a dark damp cave, the dwarf king offering both his first name and friendship to one mere hobbit. Bilbo would never find out what the offer entailed, losing the friend he just so recently gained.

A great pang of sorrow coursed through his veins, heart already aching at the notion of future loss. His blood ran as cold as snow and his lungs couldn’t seem to get enough air.

As he turned his gaze upon the orcs jeering at the Company, he found his grief slowly transforming into something sharper, something hotter. Fury boiled his blood and red filled his vision.

How dare _they_?

No member of the Company was allowed to die in this quest except for Bilbo! Every dwarf would survive this journey, would live to see their home reclaimed! No unnaturally pasty orc would cause their deaths nor hinder their mission. It was _unfair_ for their expedition to end here by the hands of these filthy small-footed manner-lacking, tea-hating, gossip-spreading creatures!

And ooh, that Thorin, with his foolhardy head full of air and dwarvish nonsense! To think he would just charge towards his death like that! Did he not think of how the Company would feel as they watch him greet his demise with fervor?

His rage reached a crescendo he never would have thought possible. Who exactly was the cause of his ire? Bilbo himself would like to know. Nonetheless, the hobbit did knew where to direct it.

Bilbo had no recollection of how he got past the group of orcs and wargs. Had he used the ring to his advantage? Had he moved too quietly for even the most alert of beasts? Nonetheless, he got through the pack practically unscathed.

(Later, the Company would enlighten him. The hobbit had been a blur in the wind, the dwarven cloaks bellowing dramatically behind him. He darted past several orcs without hesitation or fear. Most had not detected his presence until he was well out of reach. Some had been in his way and had been rewarded with shallow cuts to the face and hands.)

The next thing the hobbit recalled was plunging his sword deep into the soft flesh of the orc threatening to behead the Company leader. The blade went into the orc’s stomach almost seamlessly. Bilbo didn’t think he would ever forget the feel of muscle and fat splitting with little resistance under the force of his jab. The orc struggled with a screech but with a cruel twist of the sword, its movements ceased almost immediately.

 _Why was there a hole in its armor in the vulnerable area? Did orcs value aesthetics more than they value practicality?_ The hobbit wondered hysterically, mind refusing to process that he had _killed_ a sentient being. Yet he couldn’t find it in himself to feel remorse.

Bilbo pushed incoming hysteria aside as orcs and wargs surrounded him. He stood in front of a (now) unconscious Thorin, blood-soaked sword raised threateningly. His eyes blazed once more with unexplained wrath, a furnace lighting up at the center of his chest. The white orc stared at him with amusement, as if Bilbo was a mere child involving himself in the affairs of grown-ups.

At this point, the hobbit was a tight ball of fury and bewilderment, and his capability for thinking had sadly been reduced. He was just so _mad_ at everything and everyone in the immediate vicinity but most especially, he was angry at this smirking pale orc.

He bared his teeth. “Kindly sod off, you miserable pasty creature – “ He continued heaping curses upon the pale orc’s whole being. Crude words spilled forth like venom from his mouth, the kind of language that would make his father slap him none-too-gently on the wrist. With the orc’s expression slowly souring, it was obvious that he had quite a good grasp of Westron – Westron insults, anyway.

(The young dwarrows in the Company had blushed at the hobbit’s words. Dori lamented the fact that he had failed to cover his little brother’s ears).

As Bilbo stared at the orc, trying to find more ways to insult him, his gaze settled on the amputated left arm. It was something the hobbit noticed before but it was only now that his mind offered the memory of Balin’s stories. A white orc who beheaded Thorin’s grandfather and whose arm was cut off by Thorin in return . . .

 _I bloody called it! I knew this blasted orc was the one hunting us!_ “You’re Azog!” Bilbo blurted out, surprised by his own epiphany. “Azog, The – The . . . Deranged?” Bilbo couldn’t quite remember the word Balin used.

Upon hearing his name, Azog’s smirk reappeared. At that, Bilbo’s wrath came back tenfold. “What, you think your name strikes fear in the hearts of all races? You’re not that bloody popular, you arrogant git! And your name rhymes with bog anyhow so any fear I should associate with it dissipates entirely.” Bilbo had been reduced to childish name-calling. Right. He could not find it in himself to care.

 _Attack already,_ he silently urged. _Attack so I might finish you off and you would never come to bother us again!_ In that moment, Bilbo, armed with spite and a little sword, fully believed he could do it; he could defeat this large battle-experienced orc and the equally large warg it rode upon.

Thankfully, before the enemy could start their assault upon the small hobbit and the passed out dwarf, the rest of the Company had regained their wits. They rallied together and attacked with zeal, desperation and protective instincts fueling their spirits. Orcs cried out in pain and wargs roared as their skin met the sharp ends of the dwarrows’ weapons. Azog and his warg back away from the worst of the assault, clearly listening to some self-preservation instincts.

Bilbo charged forward with a cry, meeting blades with one of the nondescript orcs riding a warg. Knowing he couldn’t win with strength, the hobbit pulled back, ducked down, found a hole in the enemy’s armor, and buried his sword in the spot. The orc shrieked and wildly swung its weapon. The blade barely missed Bilbo, who had deemed it appropriate to blind the warg by slashing it eyes. The warg howled in pain and buckled.

Bifur came out of nowhere and finished both the orc and warg for Bilbo. But the hobbit caught sight of the pack strap upon the dwarf’s back and remembered his daggers.

Without warning, he pulled at the bag strapped to Bifur’s back. The dwarf grunted in surprise and spun around. He almost attacked the hobbit, thinking Bilbo had been an enemy who had gotten ahold of him. Bifur drew his mattock back just in time, heart nearly stopping at the thought of nearly maiming his friend. The hobbit remained oblivious to the attempt on his life.

Indeed, Bilbo had been focused on rummaging through the pack’s pockets for his daggers. He couldn’t help but remember all those books he read with conniving villains; it was a predictable cliché that those kinds of antagonists came back into the scene, like persistent pests, to irritate the heroes. Unless some circumstances put them down permanently, the villains could and would produce a lot of tragedy for the protagonists. Right now, Azog was releasing that kind of villainous vibes. In Bilbo’s mind, that orc had to die soon so he wouldn’t be a problem later. It was an unreasonable thought. Unfortunately, Bilbo was anything but reasonable at the moment.

At the back of his mind, Bilbo wondered where this newfound bloodlust in his veins came from. He was quite sure he never experienced such an intense desire to harm something or someone before. That, however, was an idea to be entertained when all of the Company was away from danger. And when that sodding pasty orc was mere fertilizer for the soil.

Bilbo unsheathed one of his daggers, green eyes seeking his target. Seeing that the hobbit had gotten his weapons, Bifur decided to join the fight once more, although he made sure to stay near. Those daggers weren’t really for short-range fights so the dwarf would have to ensure no enemy got close to the burglar.

Meanwhile, Bilbo had found and locked eyes with the one who would definitely meet his end by the hobbit’s blade. Azog growled in challenge, and Bilbo narrowed his eyes in response.

Without hesitation, Bilbo drew his arm back and threw the dagger at Azog with deadly accuracy and overwhelming speed.

The said orc simply lifted his metal claw and knocked the flying weapon away without much effort. He bared his teeth in a facsimile of a smile, a malicious glint upon his gaze.

 _Why, that –!_ Bilbo’s nose twitched, indescribably cross. He took out his second dagger, prepared to try again.

His gaze wandered, however, and caught something else.

An enormous orc shadowed Dwalin, raising its blackened sword with both arms and planning to cut the dwarf down. Dwalin, who was already wrestling with a warg twice his size, remained oblivious to the danger. Without further thought, Bilbo changed the trajectory of his aim and pitched the second dagger to the presumptuous evil creature, anger transferring from one vile orc to another. _Blast these beasts,_ Bilbo fumed. They would _not_ take a single one of his dwarrows!

Unlike the first blade, this one hit true; it embedded itself in the hollow of the orc’s throat. Blood spurted liberally from the wound, and the orc was dead before its sword had even started striking down. Dwalin turned around and found an orc gurgling its own blood a few feet away, dagger jammed in its throat.

Two daggers lost, Bilbo moved to draw out his sword so he could recklessly join the fray.

And he would have had something not grabbed him by the scruff and lifted him off the ground.

The screeches of eagles drowned Bilbo’s yelp of surprise. Giant birds of prey flew from nowhere and apparently allied themselves with the Company, judging by the way they attacked the orcs instead of the dwarrows. Claws grappled with wargs and dropped them from great heights. Some dwarrows, like Bilbo, were plucked away from the ground and from peril by those same claws. The Company let out various sounds of shock and distress, never been so high up.

Later, Gandalf would explain that he had called the Children of Manwë to aid them. Right now, Bilbo marveled at their luck. Eagles! Eagles were helping them!

The orcs retreated into the woods where the eagles could not give chase. The last to run was their leader . Azog snarled, the prey of his hunt escaping relatively unscathed.

Bilbo wanted to stick his tongue out at him but decided to be mature; instead, he stretched both hands forward and gave Azog a very impolite gesture indeed. The orc roared out something in Black Speech. Although unable to understand the language, the hobbit guessed the words were along the lines of ‘I’ll find you’ or ‘This is not over’ or maybe ‘You’ll never have elevensies again’. Alright, probably not the last one since Bilbo doubted orcs even know what elevensies were. Did they? Who said orcs did not actually eat six times a day like hobbits?

Ruminating upon this issue, Bilbo failed to notice that the talons holding him were loosening until he was falling. He didn’t even have time to scream or perhaps say any last words before another eagle swooped in and caught him. This time, he found himself riding on one’s back. It was a wonderful change, seeing as the eagle’s feathers were soft, their bodies warm, the breeze more forgiving, the sun less bleak, the position more comfortable . . . 

Bilbo sighed, running his finger through the soft material of his bed. He burrowed further, tired eyes drifting close. He would have enjoyed flying with the eagles, to lift his arms up and feel the wind. However, now that the fighting was over, he felt like all the energy that remained in him was leaving. He was being drained, bit by bit, as they soared the skies. The overwhelming anger that lit his spirit settled into a low peaceful hum in his bones. The orc pack was far away and they were all safe –

Bilbo abruptly lifted his head from its comfy perch. He scanned the horizon, gaze honing in on the eagles carrying his companions. One wizard, and one, two . . . five, six, seven . . . eleven, twelve – Where’s – oh, there was Thorin, held by the eagle’s talons instead of riding on its back, still unconscious. Thirteen dwarrows and one wizard were all accounted for.

Headcount complete, Bilbo relaxed once more. He dropped his head back down, practically melting onto the eagle’s back. Boneless and contented, he fell asleep a few moments later.

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_“Strange.”_

_You blink, turning to the owner of the voice. A familiar curly-haired large-footed shadow sits next to you, a blackened pipe loosely held by dark fingers._

_You take a puff from your own pipe before asking, “What is?”_

_“Another hobbit.” A flash of white breaks the dark décor. You startle. The shadow’s teeth are pearly white and that is very strange indeed._

_“Another?” You look around. The ground is barren and the horizon mimics the color of ash. “Where?” You come to a realization.”Oh! Are you referring to yourself? Um, well.” You stare at the distinguished blob, pity swelling in your chest. This poor confused creature. But you could not be cruel. If the shadow thinks itself as a hobbit, then, “Yes, you are a very nice hobbit indeed. Very strong-footed!” You encourage._

_Quick as a sparrow, the shadow’s hand encloses your upper arm. You gasp, pipe falling to the ground. A familiar icy feeling crawls up your belly, a heavy feeling pulling your heart. Intelligible whispers phases through your ears, growing louder and more demanding by the second._

_“. . . on his dark throne . . .“_

_“ . . . where the Shadows lie . . .”_

_“All right, all right! Speak one by one!” You demand of the shadow and its many voices. “How do you expect me to understand when you all speak at the same time?” You are reminded of a crowd of excitable fauntlings, all talking at once to express some wonderful happenstance or the other._

_The voices abruptly hushed._

_Then, the shadow expands and engulfs you entirely._

Bilbo awoke with a start just as his eagle landed, the weird dream slipping from his mind and memory.

The hobbit blearily glanced around, trying to orient himself. He groaned, muscles sore and head pounding. There was also a queasiness to his stomach that threatened to disown what little he ate in the past few hours.

A great flurry of movement ensued on the ground below, dwarrows gathering hurriedly in one spot. How could they have so much energy after that taxing battle? He envied them. Bilbo gingerly eased of the eagle, mumbling a sincere “Thank you,” before walking off to see what fuss was all about. The eagle chirped curtly and joined its comrades in the sky.

“Thorin!” Gandalf cried out, dropping to his knees. The dwarrows of the Company did the same, bending down and surrounding the unmoving form that was Thorin Oakenshield.

The hobbit froze, heart in his throat. No, no, no, it couldn’t be. Sure, Thorin had taken a mace to the chest and warg fangs to the ribs but dwarrows were created out of unyielding stones. Such injuries could not put them down, not permanently. And Thorin was the leader of this quest! Surely, that accounted for something – Surely, the Valar could not have meant this to be the dwarf’s – no, no, no.

Thorin had still been moving after the white warg had threw him! He didn’t even seem to be bleeding out! Even as the thoughts crossed his mind, tiny saccharine voices rose up to offer distressing conclusions.

_Death is a quick and silent thief. None could predict whose life would next be stolen. There are bleedings that poison the insides, and they are the worst ones._

Thorin remained still, chest motionless. Grief and guilt swallowed the hobbit whole. He had been too late, too slow –

Gandalf muttered a spell, passing a hand over Thorin’s face.

The dwarf king gasps, eyes fluttering open and chest heaving. Everyone collectively breathed a sigh of relief. The band around Bilbo’s chest loosened, and his knees almost buckled in respite.

Thorin was _alive_.

He let out a shaky laugh. After that nerve-wracking ordeal, he was alive. They were all alive!

Including Bilbo.

Huh.

“The hobbit?” Thorin asked breathlessly.

Gandalf smiled with his eyes. “It’s alright. Bilbo is here. He’s quite safe.”

Yes, quite safe. Bilbo scratched his head, terribly puzzled. The battle was a bit of a blur now, and he really wasn’t sure how a small inexperienced hobbit like him managed to survive. If logic was to be followed, he should have a poisoned sword ripping through his gut right about now.

While Bilbo was contemplating his miraculous survival, Thorin had shakily risen to his feet with the help of Dwalin and Gloin. As soon as he got his feet under him, he roughly shrugged away their support.

“You!”

Bilbo’s head snapped up, alarmed by the rage dripping from the one word. Thorin’s face was thunderous, blue eyes akin to chips of ice.

“What were you doing?” he asked, tone low and dangerous. The dwarrows around bristled, eyes widening but none spoke up.

What in the Yavanna’s name? Bilbo opened and closed his mouth, indignation flaring in his breast. _What?_ What could he have possibly done to anger Thorin this time?

“You nearly got yourself killed!”

Bilbo gave a humorless smile, dramatically placing a palm over his chest. “Oh, _I_ nearly got myself killed? Me?” His headache and nausea contributed little to his patience. Thorin Oakenshield’s idiotic accusations and reminders of another failed suicide attempt, however, tested his patience far beyond imagining.

Thorin halted, clearly wrong-footed.

The hobbit’s smile dropped, and his gaze turned piercing. “Who was the great oaf that charged towards a pack of orcs and wargs armed with a measly branch and a small elven sword?”

Someone from the Company muffled a cough.

“M-My sword’s not –“

“ _Who_ was it that carelessly ran towards the open mouth of a warg, obviously with no plan at all?”

“I had –“

“Did you not think of the Company at all!?” Bilbo snarled, stomping closer to the dwarf king. Without his explicit permission, Thorin’s feet took him a step back. The same instinct overtook the feet of the other dwarrows near him. “Did you not think of what would happen to us had you died? Of what Fili and Kili would feel?”

The mentioned dwarrows gulped and nodded rapidly in agreement.

“Are you so self-centered to even think about what the Company would go through?” Here, Bilbo couldn’t help but pause because . . . he had an inkling that the main cause of his anger wasn’t truly Thorin or the orcs. Still, Thorin took up a large chunk of the reason so he continued, albeit with much less heat, “You’ve made us all worry so much with your thoughtlessness! I’ve a mind to strangle you and shake you until something sensible comes out of that mind of yours!”

“Here, Master Baggins, let me help you with that.” Nori popped out of nowhere, surprising both Thorin and Bilbo.

Nori grasped both the hobbit’s wrists and led his hands towards the dwarf king’s neck. In shock, both just stood there and let it happen.

But Bilbo’s fingers did not enclose Thorin’s neck. Instead, Nori pulled them further back until the hobbit was forced to step closer and closer. His arms rested along Thorin’s shoulders, the tip of his nose met the cold material dwarf’s armor. Bilbo’s nose took in the smell of sweat, blood, earth, smoke, and grass while his eyes took in the silvery shine of metal.

Nori flattened Bilbo’s hands on Thorin’s upper back and released him.

The hobbit blinked. The dwarf king blinked. Both were as still as statues, analyzing their current position.

They were –

They were _hugging_.

Bilbo was _embracing_ Thorin.

Around them, the Company cheered and laughed and patted each other, as if the hug was the cue to properly celebrate their continued survival.

 _I’ll steal all your knives, Nori,_ Bilbo vowed. He flushed and started pulling back. It was probably the thief’s revenge for his tattling to Dori earlier.

Before he could fully extricate himself, Thorin let out a chuckle. Bilbo felt the rumble more than he heard it, close as he was to the dwarf. Thorin slipped his arms around the hobbit to suitably reciprocate the embrace.

“You saved my life and I’m indebted to you. I apologize for being a ‘great oaf’ as you put it,” Thorin said earnestly.

The hug was very nice indeed; the hobbit had received such touches much more in the past months than in the seventeen years since his parents’ death. Bilbo sighed. “And I’m sorry for shouting at you. You faced your most hated enemy and I suppose some reckless rage is to be expected.” Then, he hurried to add, “None of this ‘indebted’ business. You are . . . my friend and I cannot just leave my friends to their deaths, can I?”

“Aye, I see,” was Thorin’s reply, a note of amusement and fondness in his tone.

Then, suddenly he pulled back with a concerned frown. He freed a hand and palmed the hobbit’s cheek. Bilbo recoiled with an astounded look. “What –“

“Is tha’ what I think it is?”

All heads snapped towards the direction Bofur pointed. Some dwarrows released quiet gasps. Awe and longing filled their faces but none could compare to the amazement painting Thorin’s face.

Although not a dwarf himself, Bilbo was not untouched by the sight of the Lonely Mountain outlined in the distant horizon.

“Erebor,” the dwarf king breathed out.

How many years had it been since the dwarrows last gazed upon their mountain, their home? For the citizens of Ered Luin, like Bilbo, it was their first time seeing their destination, yet even they were not exempted from the yearning the mere sight provoked.

The distance was still wide and the dwarven kingdom was still far far away. But a dash of untainted optimism swamped Bilbo at that moment, causing him to declare, “I do believe the worst is behind us.” The dwarrows looked as giddy as the hobbit felt.

Blood rushed to Bilbo ears, his heart pounding loudly from the unadulterated and completely foolish hope engulfing his soul. The Company was going to reach the mountain and successfully reclaim it from the dragon.

And maybe, just maybe, one Bilbo Baggins would be alive to see it.

With those thoughts, the hobbit deemed it a good time as any to surrender to the creeping darkness and pass out.

❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**  
>  Oh no, why is Bilbo so out of character!? He’s so bloodthirsty and angry and there are demonic voices pulling him down . . . Nah, it’s probably nothing.  
> Kindly point out any glaring errors! Constructive criticisms are very much welcome!  
> ~ Vividpast


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